#and foreign coins on his altar

[cherrywine-sunnydiety]

Hermes is so sneaky with money, he sees when I’m struggling and he finds a way to send me exactly the amount I need. For example I needed to renew my car registration and get my car checked and I knew it was going to be a chunk of my paycheck but yesterday I was doing a favor for a family member that sells homemade creams and soap by going to two older ladies and dropping off the product and picking up the money (she lives out of town) and when I was ready to drop off the earning she told me I could keep all of it because she felt like I needed it more and I almost cried. And the HILARIOUS part is that today, when I went to check my car it was EXACTLY the amount that I had gotten from the creams

[seafoamaphrodite]

Hi, I wanted to ask what to do if I’ve become weirdly drawn to Aphrodite in last few weeks and keep seeing her everywhere (fyp, shops, random books) and I’m interested in hellenic gods and devotion but I don’t feel close to any concept associated with Aphrodite at all? Like I’m masculine, not interested in makeup/skincare/decoration, aroace not wanting relationship, dress very simple, etc

Ofc I can feel platonic love or appreciate beautiful things like all humans, but the whole concept of flirty feminine goddess of love and sex and fertility and beauty and pearls is just so foreign to me. Why am I so drawn to a goddess who’s kinda my opposite? How do I start connecting with her without doing the usual beauty stuff flowers pink crystals which people usually mention? And should I even try connecting with her if I don’t like her “aesthetic”?

Now I sound like some pick me girl lmao and sorry if I described her very stereotypically

Why I still insist on connecting with her is bc getting so many synchronicities is crazy, for example today I contacted a baker to order my custom birthday cake and asked to see examples of her works, and she sent Birth of Venus cake picture?? yk I believe that when I get signs I should follow them

hi there! my best advice to you would be to look into all of Aphrodite's epithets, myths, associations, and history. while Aphrodite is often associated with pink and flowers and feminine, this is not the only way to honor her.

take Aphrodite Areia for example. Aphrodite's "war-like" epithet could be associated with knives, blood, armor, and courage. Aphrodite Ourania evokes images of the stars, the ocean, divinity, and power.

Aphrodite is so much more than just a feminine love goddess, and I don't blame you for feeling pressured to conform to that. she is known as the goddess of love, beauty, and pleasure for a reason, and this often correlates with decadence and femininity. I would encourage you to find your own associations and go with your gut when it comes to offerings/worship.

try what works for you! do some research and go easy on yourself!

anyway here's some lesser-known Aphrodite associations that are less traditionally "feminine". you could use these for altar decor, offerings, or whatever!!

sea shells

sand

sea water (or salt water if you can't access the sea)

animal bones

feathers (she is often associated with doves and swans, but i give her all sorts of feathers lol)

bees

geese

apples

things you associate with love (gifts/photos from loved ones, things you associate with them, etc.)

cherub and angel imagery

knives

coins

any kind of jewelry

dolphins

and I will sign off by saying your relationship with the divine is completely personal. give yourself grace to try, explore, and learn new things. do what works for you 🐝🐬🕯️

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #21: Shade

“Hot, hot, hot.” Locke swiped his hand over his eyes, rubbing stinging sweat from them, and brushed his bangs back. It offered the slightest bit of relief from Thanalan’s arid weather, exposing his skin to the air and letting it breathe, but it did nothing for the shaggy mess sticking to his neck. He’d have to get a hair tie next time he found himself near a market.

Whenever that was. The dirt road twisted through the hills, dry and cracked beneath the midday sun. Stubby trees and stone outcroppings dotted the landscape, but they offered little shelter from the heat, and he saw nothing promising before him.

“Gods help me,” he muttered. “Would like some shelter. Or rain? Settle for rain.”

It wasn’t a proper prayer, really. He wasn’t certain how those worked here.

But somehow, it worked anyroad.

The sun had traveled a couple bells’ worth further across the sky when Locke spied a spire jutting up from the stone. He shouldered his pack and quickened his pace, moving briskly down the road and closer to the spire.

As he drew near and stepped into the open, more spires reached up from the stone and from buildings arranged across the hills. They loomed over the path, rocky fingers beckoning him to a shaded cavity below.

Locke spared a glance toward one of the buildings as he passed, eyes following the stairs leading up to the door. Though old and worn, it didn’t appear to be in disrepair.

But his gaze was quickly drawn back to the cave. Flanked by columns nursing lit candles and adorned with glittering red and blue ornaments hanging over its mouth like teeth, it had the look of a holy site, though he knew not to what or who.

What he did know was the cave offered shade and shelter, exactly as he’d prayed for.

It seemed rude to decline.

Locke stepped into the tunnel and followed it, the metallic click of his boots on stone echoing all around him with each footfall. Candles and columns lit the path forward, guiding him until he stepped into a chamber.

A stone statue stood at the far end, hooded head bowed, carved eyes shut. Swathed in long, flowing vestments and bearing a sword almost as long as the statue was tall, it towered over Locke. Behind it stood a massive door, carved into the rock.

He crossed the lonely cavern to the altar at the figure’s feet. Smoky incense burned in a censer, rising up in lazy curls and setting Locke’s nose twitching. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and sniffled before lowering himself to sit before the altar.

Locke stared up at the sculpture for a while, pondering it. There was no question that it was some sort of deity. Surrounded by lamps and candles and glittering ornaments, watching over an array of urns and their contents, its frame carved so meticulously and maintained despite its age.

If he spoke, would it hear, as his master had once claimed the woods did? And would it speak, as his elders certainly still claimed the woods did?

But his god and his ghosts were half a star away. What questions could he possibly have that wouldn’t be a waste of this foreign deity’s time?

He closed his eyes and let himself rest instead, rousing from his not-quite-sleep only once he felt the worst of the day’s heat had passed. He rose to his feet and stretched before collecting his swords and his pack, returning them all to their proper places.

His eyes wandered up the statue again to peer at its face, composed and at peace throughout its long vigil.

He set a coin on the altar.

“It’s not much,” he apologized. “But thanks for the shade.”

Locke flashed a smile at the keeper of the dead and left the temple, continuing on his way.

[mandi-cakes]

Next up, in sharing my BG3 Tav children…

My bardlock, Miguel de Navarre. Or rather, His royal Highness, Prince Miguel Luis Antonio Fernando Santiago de Navarre. However, since BG3 only allows so many letters in a tav's name, It's simply Miguel de Navarre. He is a nonsense boi.

I've had this lad sitting on my list of playable DnD characters for a long while, and I figured, since it was likely going to be a long while before I can use him in an actual DnD campaign (as is the case with a lot of my PCs), I'd at least play him in BG3. For a little of his backstory prior to using him in game--and remember, this is outside of BG3:

Miguel is not originally from Faerun. Instead he is from another continent entirely (where exactly IDK, I made up his home country and named it after a real world place that is off the coast of Spain). He's a disgraced Prince living in exile, who was cast out for making the royal family look bad. He'd been bedding everyone from castle staff to foreign dignitaries, and ditched his betrothed at the altar (an arranged marriage he didn’t want). Thus he was disowned, and is even forbidden to speak his mother tongue. So Miguel travels from place to place, and makes his living as a bard. But, being of royal blood with lavish taste, and a desire for the finer things in life...Miguel eventually found that affording those things as a singular bard was really hard to achieve. How is one supposed to afford a cushy place to bed down at night when public taste for good music and poetry is so subjective? Or nonexistent... And coin is hard to come by... Migs was going to need somebody to care for him in the way he felt he deserved... Yes, he was aiming to be somebody's sugarbaby. Of course he would, he's a prince, he's not going to take care of himself. In time, he encounters an archfey who promises to do just that--not in the way you think, though. Yeah, Miguel is a bit of a whore--he's a bard--but not everything has to be about sex, ok? (I'm laughing as I write this) Not that he scores all that much anyway. Hell, not even he's patron wants Miguel like that. The situation is more like, 'work for me, and I'll provide you with what you want or need'. However, the downside to Miguel's patron is that it's Hyrsam, the Satyr Prince of Fools. Of course, he would attract Hyrsam as a patron... Miguel is 100% free range himbo.

Look at him, this absolute baby, with those puppy doge eyes. Such idiot. Much fool. Wow.

Anyway.

In terms of characterization, I put Antonio Banderas and Puss in Boots in a blender, and out came Miguel.

For Manner of dress...possibly a matador inspired aristocratic outfit, or as close as I could get. Big, fancy hat with a big and fluffy feather plume. Like, is he a matador, a prince, or just a fancy pirate? Either way, he is extremely ostentatious. However, the outfit that I had in mind for Miguel doesn't exist in BG3, so I've had to make do with what I could get once I was in a position to upgrade his wardrobe.

So fancy. Like others before him, twas tempted by the other himbo of the vampiric variety.

But, ultimately, Miguel chose Gale. Can't resist the Rizzard of Waterdeep.

*sigh* Look at them... (ಥ﹏ಥ)

I love these two dummies together.

I'm still playing Miguel's run, so I'll update this once I'm done.

[fortuneshq]

𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚄𝙽𝙴’𝚂 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝟶𝟶𝟷: BENEDICTIO.

location: reims cathedral → courtyard of the hôtel saint-pol.

involved: everyone.

ic & ooc dates: 2 july – 9 july.

the streets of paris are strewn with heaven-blue carpets, white blossoms, and gold coins, glistening in the early-july sun. sweat-slick bodies crowd together, their palms outstretched to the majestic, mystic figure of pope innocent gliding by, swallowed by the cerulean mist of of almoners and gold-cloaked bishops. the pope rains his blessings upon the people of the city, once-plague ridden dwellings overflowing with hundreds of spectators, clawing for a glimpse of their holy father as innocent’s shimmering entourage processes towards the notre-dame de reims.  

inside the arched, limewashed cathedral, royal bodies press together in the pews; their own grand entrée into the city having been equally magnificent. they watch as the pope ascends the altar, floating on a billowing cloud of possibility, bestowing his sincerest hopes that the summer’s summit will restore peace and prosperity to the world.  as a token of his troth, innocent presents each ruler from the assembled conclave with a gilded insignia, declaring them a bishop of hope. the parisian summit has begun – the fate of creation lies in their palms. 

later, royals and their winding retinues snake back to the courtyard of the hôtel saint-pol, carried on gilded couches and litters drawn by snow-white palfreys. amid the bright sunshine and verdant lawns, they are feted by tournaments, jousting, archery, dances in the gardens, the opportunity to have their fortune’s heard in the shadow of ancient oaks, to listen to wandering troubadours play at their village dirges and knights of chivalry wax poetic about maidens’ beauty – all whilst mingling with fellow rulers and their relatives. foreign coins are traded, foreign fashions marveled at. the basis of international treaties will be made and unmade under the scorching parisian sun, for the air that streams over the palace carries a fresh and invigorating sense of hope and possibility.

[travelingthief]

Hermes Devotional Post!

Not a complete list of course, so feel free to add on!

Travel

Dedicated travel playlist for Hermes

Mindful packing for trips

Road-trips/camping

Trying new modes of travel

Let Him pick the music

Travel by boat/kayak/canoe

Learn to roller skate, skateboard, or longboard

Learn to surf

Go for a bike ride

Find ways to save on gas (like rewards cards)

Misc.

Draw sigils on shoes

Leave coin offerings at the location you start your travels

Travel size portable altar

Give people in need bus fare 

Go for a run 

Picking up coins you find/leaving coins for others

Donating to homeless shelters

Car

Keep up on car maintenance (especially in the wintertime)

Courteous driving (Letting people out, stopping for pedestrians, using your blinker)

Clean snow off other drivers’ cars

Keep your car clean

Giving rides to others

Stopping for those that need help on the side of the road

Invite Him to ride in the passenger seat

Let Him pick the music

International

Get a passport!

Keeping up on foreign affairs

Decorate your passport

See the world!

Make a travel board/destination list

Learn about places you wanna go

Try foreign foods

Nature

Take a nature walk! (Or just a walk around the block)

Dedicate your hiking boots/running shoes to him

Find a spot in nature to talk to Him

Learn about birds in your area and where they come from and go.

Learn how animals communicate (great alongside Artemis)

Communication

Write letters to friends

Send postcards/greeting cards

Call a friend or relative

Reread messages/emails before sending 

Communicate your thoughts and feelings in your relationships

Practice keyboarding

Establish and enforce your boundaries 

Can and string telephones

Keep secrets entrusted to you

Support your local post office

Collect stamps/postcards

Dedicate your phone/laptop to Him

Have a penpal

Language

Keep a journal 

Learn a new language/Revisit the language you started learning and then neglected 

Learn ASL

Learn about the evolution of language and how it is always changing

Be mindful of the language you use in daily life and consider how it affects you and those around you 

Change your self-talk! Keep it positive!

Voice training (Particularly for trans worshippers)

Thinking before you speak

Learn about older forms of communication (like Morse Code)

Learn braille 

Go to the library and practice reading books in a foreign language (Great to do alongside Athena)

Practice writing (great to do alongside Apollo) 

Learn about the elements of writing, like allegory and metaphors (alongside Apollo)

Trickery and luck

Play pranks (remember: good pranks cause confusion, not harm)

Learn magic tricks 

Buy scratch offs/play the lottery

Understand how gambling addictions affect people

Dice and card games

Learn about good luck charms/Make your own

Night at the casino 

Learn about superstitions

Games like billiards or darts

Arcade/video games/carnival games

Make small/friendly bets

Poker nights!

Game of horseshoes

Learn parlor games

Miscellaneous 

Smoke a bowl with Him! (If your relationship is like that)

Offer him coffee and energy drinks

Trail mix, candy, road-trip snacks, 

Learn a good joke

Write/perform stand up comedy 

Related Jobs

Mail carriers and sorters

 Retail workers (Hermes of Merchants & Commerce)

 Canvassers 

Editors, journalists, and writers

Newspaper routes

Bank tellers

Carnies 

Casino workers

Gas station attendants

 Mechanics 

Where I Acknowledge Him

Gas stations

Mail carriers/trucks

Worn-looking travelers (thinking of the eye-patched man lounging on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette. Hope to be that content one day)

Gumball machines give me his vibe

Arcade games, pinball machines, and air hockey 

Flea markets/garage sales

Simple Acts to Devote to Him

Checking your mail

Checking email/voicemail

Buying stamps

Flipping a coin

Dice divination

Charm casting

Collections

Rocks

Coins/money 

Good luck charms

Pens/writing utensils

Playing cards

Dice (Looking at you D&D players)

Offerings

Orange peels

Trail mix/peanuts

Road-trip snacks

Rocks & pebbles, coins, cool things you find outside

Travel souvenirs 

Good luck charms

Energy drinks

Coffee (bonus points for gas station coffee)

Letters/postcards/stamps

Apples/bananas/grapes

Foreign foods

[twelfthremedy]

Hermes Offerings

"Hermes is the Olympian god of herds, trade, heralds, travel, athletes, and thieves."

Large altars:

Beer

White wine

Red wine for His chthonic aspect

Milk

Mutton

Pork

Beef

Chamomile tea

Honey

Olive oil

Strawberries

Foreign foods

Eggs

Virgo or Gemini moon water

Frankensince

Myrrh incense

Lavendar incense

Golden objects

Silver objects

Musical instruments

Wands

Small/Hidden altars:

Money/coins

Foreign money/coins

Dice

Pebbles

Silver or silver objects

Gold or golden objects

Amethyst

Quartz

Orange topaz

Agate

Strawberry scents

Lavendar scents

Feathers

Turtle shaped objects or art

Strawberry art or toys

Crocus flowers

Written stories or letters

"Travel food", food you would take on a long car trip, i.e. trail mix, seeds, nuts, candies, etc.

Souvenirs from your trips

Actions:

Travel to new places

Learn a new language

Learn a new sport

Practice speaking in public or online

Practice writing

Learn astrology

Learn astronomy

Learn about agriculture and animal husbandry

Learn slight-of-the-hand magic tricks

Collect coins

Have a feast in His name

Dice games (yes, this includes DnD!)

Card games

Donate to homeless shelters in His name

Give money to the homeless

Keep a dream journal

Write Him stories, poems, or jokes!

Honor the dead, especially family members who have passed away

Invoke Him on your travels or when looking for a job and always thank Him when you arrive safely or have some luck in your life

Sources:

http://www.neokoroi.org/religion/gods/hermes/hermes-an-introduction-to-worshipping-the-messenger-of-the-olympians/

https://vocal.media/futurism/ways-of-worship-hermes

[honklore]

is nothing sacred? | quackity

(4.6k+ word count, prince!alex, augur/seer!reader, gn!reader, angst, alex has a sucky dad, reader has a sucky family, karl appears as a time traveler ofc, neg and pos religious themes, deification is the belief that when a monarch dies they will become a god, the rapids is a kingdom in this but it isn’t an smp au)

listen to: evermore by taylor swift, foreigner’s god by hozier, (the end) by levi weaver, exile by taylor swift

There’s a warm spring just outside the monastery. It’s hidden in the mountain, a few miles away from the castle walls and yet you find that it’s too close for comfort.

Every bright and loud fanfare that announces the prince’s coming and leaving echoes off of the hills and pours through your peaceful respite. It’s just enough to make you grumpy.

It’s one of those mornings again, and you find yourself floating in the hot spring, eyes open towards the sun, wishing you had more patience with the dear prince you call your best friend.

Your robe is heavy across your torso, floating around your bare legs as you ponder your plans for today. That is, if the prince doesn’t come visit you.

That would be wishful thinking, though. You don’t have to close your eyes to know that someone has blocked the sun. With a sigh, you sink your body beneath the warm water and submerge, blinking the water off of your lashes. “Alex, this is sacred ground.”

“I know,” the prince replies, squatting down to see you. “I tied my boots around my neck, see?”

You stare at the boot he’s proudly holding up, then shift your eyes to his bare feet. “Why are you here? This is my day off.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my best friend,” Alex sneers mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Listen, are you coming back to the castle tomorrow?”

“We literally have an augury lesson at one in the morning,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Good, I’m going to disprove all of your theories.”

“They aren’t theories, Alex. I read patterns for a living, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not science.”

“Neither is your father deifying your grandfather,” this time you mock him.

He holds a steady gaze, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You’ll tell me about the night of my coronation again, right?”

“Because it warned of extreme change,” you say, voice level. “Yet I can’t figure out what’s going to happen. There’s something the stars aren’t telling me, and I have to figure it out to protect you and the kingdom.”

Alex’s eyes are a deep brown that you could probably get lost in, if he wasn’t such a little shit. “Protect me, you say?” He’s flirting now, eyes alight with the thought of annoying you, and if this spring wasn’t so important to you, you would’ve yanked him in already. “Didn’t know you cared that much about me, Y/n.”

Your robes are clinging uncomfortably to your body, accentuating the lines and curves — or lack thereof. “Hand me my towel and look away please.”

Alex closes his eyes and turns his face away, holding out the towel. “Learn anything divine from your swimming trip?”

Alex holds the towel out like a makeshift screen, and averts his eyes while you dry off and change into the clean robe he brought you. As annoying as he is, the prince is thoughtful, and he fills in the places where you lack.

“I was reflecting,” you say, buttoning the front of the robe. “It’s good for you; clears out your soul.”

Alex tosses the towel over your head and ruffles your hair. He chuckles at your protests; taunts you with warmth in his eyes. “You’re so spiritual.”

You glare at him. “I’m an augur.”

“Right,” Alex says, holding the now-wet towel close to his chest. “But you take it so seriously, sometimes.”

“I hate you,” you say, no venom in your words.

“I love you, too,” Alex says. He leans forward, almost as if to kiss your forehead, and then remembers that you’re on sacred ground, and kissing is forbidden.

Still, the very thought of what he might’ve done sends an unwanted flutter throughout your chest.

Wax drips onto the closed letter. You dip the silver stamp into the dark purple puddle, leaving the royal seal behind.

Inside is a letter to your family. It’s a prophecy you’ve received just for them. Despite them disowning you for your gift, you still find it important to warn them of upcoming woe. Like now, for instance, when you wish to warn them about the upcoming rainstorm that could ruin their crops if they don’t take precautions.

You rub your temples and blow out the candle, leaving you in silent darkness.

Your room is on the highest tower of the castle. The turret is small; a circular room with a circular bed and a circular desk and a glass, circular ceiling that showcases the stars to you each night. There’s a telescope standing against the window, a chest for your clothes, and the writing desk you’re seated upon. However, your bathroom is a few stories down, near the bottom of the tower and closer to accessible plumbing.

The door behind you bursts open, and you know it’s the young prince and his lack of basic manners when it comes to privacy. Your privacy, anyway. “What is it, Alex?”

“I’ve been waiting for you in the tower for an hour now, silly,” Alex’s words get softer as the light from the corridor pours in, and he can see what you’ve been up to. He stills, smile faltering. “You had another vision of them.”

“I wish they would stop,” you mutter. If you clench your eyes tightly enough, you can will any tears to suck back into your head. Then you can suffer through a headache, like you always do. You’ve had this “gift” since you were a little kid; you know the ups and downs of using it.

Not that it gives you much choice sometimes.

“Are you drinking the–“

“No,” you snap at Alex. “Look, suppressing them only makes it worse. Prophecies become... darker. I see things I can’t unsee. I have to allow them through.”

Alex has a hurt look on his face, but you can’t tell if it’s because you snapped at him or because he doesn’t want to see you in pain. You selfishly hope it’s the latter.

“We can talk about something less harsh on the mind.” Alex sits on your chest, avoiding your bed. It’s another sacred place for you, same as the monastery grounds. Alex knows the rules of being a seer; the ancient laws you practice. He’s read the same books as you — if just to understand you better. He’s the most loyal friend you can think of: the only person in the entire kingdom who has never questioned your beliefs.

“I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt,” you admit. “And with the vision about your coronation... I’m so scared this kingdom is going to crumble and it’s going to be because I couldn’t prevent it.”

Alex fiddles with his necklace. It’s a rune, one for protection. You used to wear a similar one beneath your robes, but with your fear of something happening, you’ve made Alex promise to wear it.

“It’s not your job to keep the kingdom from crumbling,” Alex relays. “All you need to do is tell me what you see. Then I hint to my father ways to change the kingdom. After that, it’s up to fate.”

You bite your lip. “Fate has a tricky way of playing its own hand.”

“Then it was never in your hands in the first place, yes?” Alex speaks honestly, but there’s a bit of cheek to his voice that eases your nerves.

You smile sadly. “Your father is too prideful, Alex. I can see it; the ravens, they flock the castle whenever he makes a speech. He wants to become a god. He wants something that’s impossible.”

“He deified Grandfather,” Alex quips, no emotion backing his voice. “Like you said earlier. It’s just to start the tradition, so that when he dies he’ll become holy, too.”

“I told him it was wrong. I told him that the stars foresee ruin if he stays on this trail of pride.” You cast your eyes down to your family’s letter. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” Alex’s soft voice urges you to look at him.

He’s quiet. The rune is resting on his outstretched palm and he’s looking at you. “Do you think I’d take these lessons and wear these trinkets if I thought you were wrong?”

“Maybe you do it because we’re friends,” you say. You're well aware of the fact that the prince is the only person in the entire kingdom who advocates for your beliefs. But with the rest of the realm against you, you can't help but think that deep down, he's making fun of you, too.

"You sure do worry a lot for someone who can foresee the future."

You choke out a laugh and run your hands down your face. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. I just– I feel like if I can't prevent every bad thing I predict, then it's my fault when they happen. I wish I was ignorant to omens."

Alex tuts. He pouts at you, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and holding it there for just a beat too long. “Let’s skip lessons today. You should rest.”

“Alex—“

“Ah!” Alex stands up. He begins to unclip his cufflinks from the hem of his sleeve before he passes you a coy glance. “That’s Prince Alexis to you, and if I say you should rest, then you should rest.”

You grumble, but inwardly you’re thankful.

There’s an altar, rectified in the middle of the castle courtyard. Though it was once a place of healing — a place seers would go to cleanse their minds — it is now standing in ruins.

You lay down your offerings anyway. Dried rose petals, and a few copper coins saved up. You wait with the objects until a few crows come to diligently take them away. To where? You don’t know. You’ve never asked.

Alex’s father plans to take down the altar and replace it with a shrine of himself. The knowledge of change reeks the air with a foul scent only you can smell.

It’s as if the entire kingdom is rotting and you’re the only one who knows.

You lift your hood off of your face and continue your walk throughout the court. Those you pass politely ignore you, though some choose to sneer at your mannerisms. The king has them wrapped in his prideful rule, and your heart aches for them.

There is no freedom in serving man. This much, you know.

You find yourself in the tower, waiting for the prince to come in time for his lessons.

“Father says he wants me to study more practical subjects,” Alex relates to you.

He’s lying across the balcony floor, and you are perpendicular, with your head on his stomach. You feel every breath he takes, and something about the closeness comforts you in a way you refuse to analyze.

“I’m not sure what else you could learn,” you say. Your eyes are stuck on a chip in the balcony railing. Stone that hardly cracks, and of course your foundation is crumbling quicker than your resolve. “You have lessons from dawn till dusk.”

“And you’re the only tutor I care for,” he says with a flippant sort of tone. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you less. I already wish I had more time with you.”

You’ve spoken to nuns and monks and those who swear off love in servitude to the one they worship. Most admit that it’s a lonely existence, and a torture to make up for their sins. You understand that true love must be as sacred as an old god, and to worship another person would be the greatest act of devotion. For how else do you serve a creator than by worshiping the created?

You don’t think kings are meant to be worshipped. No one with that much power should be revered with such ignorance.

But a prince is different. To worship a prince alone, in secret, for just yourself... perhaps that is the most spiritual devotion of all. Perhaps it is the most torturous.

Hearing Alex’s words makes your heart yearn for a future that can never be. You don’t need a vision to tell you that his father will soon grow tired of you. Of course you will soon be sent out of the kingdom, and Alex will forget about you in time.

You know this without a doubt in your heart, and yet Alex still clings to these moments with you.

You’d do anything to keep him safe.

“Where will I go?” You ask. “Where will I be accepted?”

Alex’s breath hitches; you feel it. And you know what he wants to say — you know what lingers at the tip of his tongue.

With me.

Your family sends back the letter, unopened. You try not to cry about it, but the truth is that you feel more alone than ever. Surely you are the last of your kind, and no one cares in the least about what you have to say.

Except maybe Alex. Lovely, beautiful Alexis. He could no sooner harm a butterfly’s wing than deny you your beliefs.

But Alex is not king. He is merely a prince, and the king does not like you. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.

“You fill my son’s head with nonsense,” the king paces back and forth in front of his empty thrown.

You hide your hands in the sleeves of your robe. “Your Majesty, I only relay what I see. I fear your kingdom is in danger.”

“And you think it my fault? Tell me, what if the stars told me to deify my father? What if I am following my own visions?” The royal cackles. “You have no sensible argument. All you have are silly dreams and lies to propel your own agenda. I will not have you spoiling my son’s brain.”

“Your Majesty—“

“I forbid you to speak on anything of the sort from hence forth. The altar will be torn down, and any peep from you regarding these readings will result in instant banishment.”

The sentence hurts more than it should, considering you aren’t being willed to die. You’re quite lucky in this sentence, considering you can still see Alex. Though, a part of you cracks and splinters to think of suppressing your visions.

The vision of Alex’s coronation still remains. You fear for the prince’s life. You fear the king will have something to do with it.

How do you tell the boy you adore that his father may be his downfall?

How do you get him to believe you?

The warm spring only gets hotter as the seasons change. You sink your head under, and the heat of the water burns your closed eyelids. Your head is killing you; pounding from holding back your emotions: your tears.

The monks don’t even worship the same as you. They lend you their springs and advice, but they aren’t the same. There are no other augurs in The Rapids, so no one else really knows how taxing the job is.

More visions come to you when you’re stressed, so you try your hardest to calm yourself. The water scalds your skin, but it distracts your mind enough to keep the visions away.

It’s all the same. All the visions are the same — Alex gets crowned king and overturns the deifying decree. And only days later, he’s assassinated, and the regent — his father — takes back the throne.

As the old proverb goes: pride cometh before a fall, and the king certainly has enough pride. You just don’t want Alex to get caught in the fall.

“You’re so predictable.” Alex’s voice is warbled.

It takes a minute for the water to release from your ears.

Surfaced, you can see Alex crouched by the bank, careful not to fall in. He’s got that same gentle smile — thin, rouge lips and eyes that seem to shine when they look at you. Alex never judges. He never makes fun of your methods. He’s simply there for you, and your heart longs to be there for him as well.

“This place is sacred,” you blurt. Seeing Alex’s face in the light of the sunset just makes you think of your visions. What would a world without Alex even look like? You aren’t sure you want to find out.

You start to cry, and Alex holds a hand out silently.

He helps you out — holds out the robe for you. His boots are around his neck, and you focus on the thinness of his ankles while you clothe yourself.

“You can’t hold me.” You say plainly.

“I know,” Alex’s voice is watery. “Let’s get you back to the palace, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Okay.”

“I’m not dead.” Alex lightly scratches your arm. Up and down. Up and down. “I’m not going to die.”

Your shoulders are braced against his side. You keep your gaze on the white smoke rising off of his incense cone.

This is his room, and his bed, because those aren’t sacred. His bed can be slept in and snuggled in and kissed in and loved in. He has scratchy cotton sheets and incense that is too old to really smell like anything.

He’s a prince with messy documents surrounding his desk and curtains that haven’t been dusted in days. Some days you wonder if the entire castle has forgotten about him. You don’t want to bring it up — don’t want to ask — but it flummoxes you.

You reach for his hand and stop its motions. “I’m sorry I bring you into all of this.”

“I want you to bring me into everything,” Alex slurs. He’s staying awake for you, and you know it. He rests his temple against your head. “I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

You hum. His body is warm against yours. Too warm, to the extent where you know you’ll wake up in the uncomfortable sort of sweat that comes when a child falls asleep on you, or when you fall asleep without the window open.

Something heavy squeezes your chest. It feels like your ribcage is sentient — hugging and pressing into your lungs until it’s nearly impossible to breathe without an uncomfortable stutter.

Alex falls asleep quick, so you don’t worry about him noticing.

You settle against him and breathe through your nose. The feeling will pass — it always does. You feel this way whenever Alex reveals something so vulnerable to you. You reckon it’s something to do with the tenderness of his voice, or the earnest squeeze of his hand.

There’s a need to protect him. You want to be there for him, more than anything else in the world.

Stripped of your job — the altar torn down — you resort back to your first and foremost activity: Alex’s best friend and (unofficial) advisor.

In this position, you’re confident in your abilities. You know just as well as anyone that you’d rather die than see the prince harmed in any way.

You’re kicked out of the tower, and your telescopes are left to dust. The king locks the door personally, ardent in his attempt to keep you away from any visions that might harm his reign.

You stay in Alex’s room, on a spare bed mat near the fireplace.

Of course, Alex has offered his bed, but you refuse to bother him any more than you have to. And now, with your rituals forbidden, you need a place to privately gather your thoughts.

The flames lick the stone furnace and you lie still. You watch them dance and close your eyes, hoping to rest without any visions or nightmares.

But the nightmares come, and they’re always the same.

When you wake in a fervent sweat, you know that only one thing will keep you from fearing Alex’s death. So, you crawl beneath his scratchy sheets.

You don’t snuggle into him or bother his slumber. All you need to do is know that he’s here. You rest your smallest finger against his bare arm and fall asleep to the sound of an owl hooting outside the window.

On the morning of Alex’s coronation, fog rises from the earth. You see it as a sign: this day will be confusing and blurred.

Alex is just excited to have cooler weather. The blistering heat has been plaguing the kingdom for days, so to have a day of fog and hollow wind sounds like heaven to the prince.

You wear your runes beneath your robe, and the weight of them is less than the weight of knowing you’re dead if you’re caught. But you need them; need this day to come and go without blood and tears.

Alex cannot see you. He’s far too busy with final rehearsals and receiving guests from far and wide.

You stray beyond the castle, into the square, where traders and travelers have set up shop in the hopes of making a profit.

There’s a sign. Fortunes Read Here. It’s tacked over a purple curtain, and you can see amber light shining through a thin slit. Like maybe someone is in there. Like maybe you aren’t alone.

You walk in.

Disappointment smacks against your ribs like a heavy wave against jagged rocks. It’s a scam. A boy no younger than yourself is sitting behind a table, with a green sash tied over his forehead. There’s a mystical rune of some kind that looks like a portal, and it’s tacked to nearly every surface you can see with dripping green paint. The place looks like that of a madman, and you fear you’re about to be mocked.

“Hello,” he says. He doesn’t offer a name. The blues of his eyes flicker from time to time with a shimmery purple, and you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Are you going to laugh at me?” You sit across from him. “Once I leave, are you going to think of me as just another gullible customer?”

“Can you not tell the future?” He says, and he grabs the crystal ball and tucks it under the table. “I can sense it. You want answers, genuine answers, not some promise of success.”

“Who are you?”

“Karl,” he says. “I’m from the village of The Rapids, but you know, magic is looked down upon. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what I know.”

You trace the lines of the rune. Your brain fogs, but as you repeat the motion, it clears up, and you suddenly see Karl, clear as day, standing in a crowd and watching Alex make a speech. “You’ve been there? You’ve been to the future?”

“Look closer,” Karl mumbles.

So you focus on the details, and you can see the black banners of mourning, and the redness of Alex’s eyes. “Oh. This is his grandfather’s funeral. This is the year before I became Alex’s tutor.”

“Walk closer.”

Unsure what he means, you continue to trace the rune, and imagine yourself walking through the crowd. Only Karl moves instead, so you pause your tracing and look at Karl.

He’s got his eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you come here? What did you want to see?”

You brought me here, you think of saying, but you wonder if this is what Karl can do. If he can travel to the past and show people what he sees. “I- I suppose I want to know why he was deified. Was it a plot?”

You trace the rune again, and Karl walks over to the king, where he stands apart from the podium. Even though his son is giving a heartfelt speech, he’s not listening at all. Instead, he’s talking to one of his trusted advisors.

“I will make a wonderful god.”

“Prince Alexis hates the new creed,” the advisor observes. “Surely he’ll overrule it once he is king.”

“Yes,” the king says. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You gasp, and even Karl seems winded as you stop tracing the rune.

He places his palms on the table. “So that’s what you wanted to find out. A regicide plot.”

“I have to find Alex,” you mutter. You stand and rip one of your runes off of your neck. Intuition. “Here, take it. You should go.”

“I can’t go into the future,” Karl warns. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No,” you think of Alex’s words. “None of us can predict fate. I have to go.”

You run out of the tent, and when you look back, it’s gone, left with nothing but a dirty sign labeled Fortunes Read Here.

Perhaps it’s past tense now.

Your purple robe billows behind you as you rush into the castle in search of the prince.

The staff says they haven’t seen him, the lords are already drunk off of mulled wine. His own tailors are running around, fearing they won’t be able to dress him in time.

So he’s gone, and that means you’re too late.

Or rather, maybe Alex is smarter than you give him credit for, and he’s gone to the one place his father won’t go.

You head up to the tower.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. And he’s in only part of his ceremonial clothes, leather pants and a cream-white collared shirt. He’s leaning his palms against the stone railing and staring out against the wind, like he’s waiting for it to speak to him. Tears slip down his cheeks and drop into the air.

“Alex…” You wrap your arms around his soft waist, squeezing tight to try and convey how thankful you are that he knew to get away. “Your father… He’s—”

“He poisoned my breakfast,” Alex whimpers. He grabs blindly for your arms, and at the touch of your skin, he folds in on himself; shifts around to face you, and buries his face into your neck. “My taster… He thought my taster was out. But he wasn’t. Now he’s dead, and the counsel are trying to figure out what to do with my father.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry.”

He cries harder, and you think your hug must feel weak compared to the comfort he so clearly needs right now. “I have to go tell the lords and the staff. We have to postpone the coronation until everyone involved is apprehended.”

You think of what he does when you feel alone. He visits your spring, and he takes off his shoes. He takes you to his bed and scratches your arm. He kisses your head and hums old lullabies from his childhood until you fall asleep.

So you grab his hand, and you pull him down the few stairs where your old bedroom lies. And you bring him toward your bed, but he stops you.

“It’s sacred to you,” he hiccups.

“You’re sacred to me,” you finally decide, and you let him crawl under your sheets.

You untie his boots and pull them off of his feet, along with his socks. Then you take the blanket and pull it up to his chin. You kiss his forehead and crawl in next to him. And you scratch his arm, up and down, and you hum old lullabies from your own childhood until he falls asleep.

While he’s asleep, you trace the moles across his cheeks and close your eyes. Suddenly, it’s like Karl’s tent, only you can see into the future, not the past. And you aren’t Karl, you’re Y/n.

The sun is bright on Alex’s back, skin tanned and warm. You’re swimming with him in the spring, and all that is sacred to you is him. All that matters is him, so he can float in the spring, and he can kiss you on holy ground, and if he can’t be deified in the kingdom, he can be deified in your soul.

And when you stop your motions, you’re back in your bed. Alex is there, sweet Alex, snoring softly and snuggling into your warmth, like you keep him safe. Like your visions aren’t the ones he believed in at all.

He has always believed solely in you.

[lailoken]

‘Heathen Survivals’

“In Scotland, as in other parts of the British Isles, the conversion to Christianity was largely led by foreign saints who were of noble birth or royal descent. They converted the tribal kings who then forced the new religion onto their subjects. For this reason the process was resisted by the lower class, and even by some members of the ruling power elite. The Chronicle of Lonecast recorded that as late as the 13th century Father John, the parish priest of Inverkiething, seduced young village girls so they danced wantonly around an ithyphallic stone idol. He allegedly 'stirred them to lust and [to] use filthy language' while leading a procession around the churchyard holding aloft a representation of 'the male organ of generation' on top of a pole. At Loch Mournie in the 17th century the local minister condemned his practitioners for continuing to practice the pagan ritual of sacrificing bulls. Twenty years later Hector Mackenzie of Mellon, his two sons and his grandson were summoned before a session of the kirk (church) elders to explain why they had killed a bull on their farm "in ane heathenish mannere". In his defense Mackenzie told the elders the sacrifice was an attempt to recover the health of his sick wife. It was not recorded who the animal was sacrificed to.

In 1650 a woman was called to account before the kirk elders for killing and burying a lamb under the threshold of a house, a magical liminal place. She told them she had sacrificed one of her flock of new-born lambs, the healthiest, so the rest would be protected from disease. When Isobel Young was charged with sorcery in 1692 for burying a live ox, her son told the court it was common husbandry practice and nothing to do with witchcraft. In a program broadcast at Hallowe'en 2009 the local radio station on the Isle of Lewis mentioned a letter written by a 17th century visitor to the island calling on the laird and the church to outlaw 'barbaric customs' at that time of year. The writer said he had seen a bull sacrificed and its blood spilt on the earth and ritual bonfires blazing on every hill. (Letter from Linda Fallows to author 31.10.2009)

On the Isle of Mull disease broke out in the herds of cattle in 1767. It was decided to take drastic measures to deal with the outbreak. A need- fire was lit on a hilltop without the use of flint and by friction between two pieces of wood. 'Need' is from the Old English niedfyr and the Old German nieten, meaning 'to churn'. The fire had to be lit before moonrise and during its lighting an old man chanted an incantation. Then a sick heifer was sacrificed and the diseased part of the animal was cut out and burnt on the need-fire. The rest of the good meat was then cooked and eaten by all those present as the fire gradually burnt down.

An ancient druidic cure for epilepsy still practiced in the Highlands at the beginning of the 20th century required the sacrifice ofa black cockerel. A hole was dug near to where the patient had experienced their last fit. The bird was buried alive while an incantation was read out calling on the earth to "swallow the evil". Shortly afterwards the sufferer would recover and, it was claimed, would have no more fits during their life.

In 1909 when a farmer died on Orkney his grieving family sacrificed his prize heifer. This was said to be an offering to the hogboy or hogboon, from the Norwegian haug-bui or haug-buinn meaning 'mound dweller'. This was the Norse term for a tutelary or guardian spirit associated with ancient burial mounds. Sometimes the hogboy was believed to be the shade or earthbound spirit of a former owner of the nearby farmstead or the ancestral founder of the family concerned. They remained earthbound to watch over their property, land and descendants and to monitor the progress of the estate down the generations.

In the 18th century Martin Martin said that the inhabitants on the Isle of Lewis still performed sacrifices to an ancient sea-god called Shoni or Shoney on Hallowe'en (October 31s). They brewed a special beer and after sunset threw cups of it into the sea. Afterwards everyone went to the local kirk and sat in the pews in silence while a candle was lit on the altar. This candle had to burn down and go out before they would leave. The rest of the night was then spent in the fields drinking, eating, singing and dancing. It was believed this ritual would ensure a good crop of seaweed used as fertilizer on the fields and therefore a bountiful harvest for the next year.

In the Hebrides St Michael, the patron saint of horses, horsemen and boats, was spoken of in the 19th century as "the god Michael". On the saint's feast day of Michaelmas (September 29th), a special bannock or oat cake was baked inside a lamb's skin. It was then blessed at a special Mass by the priest and dedicated to the saint. It was also a traditional custom on the same day to hold horse races and, unusually, both men and women participated in these events.

As well as blood sacrifices there was also a folk tradition of making offerings to the genii loci, the 'spirits of a place' or nature spirits, that inhabited the countryside. In 1697 when Martin Martin was travelling through Scotland he said country people still held pre-Christian beliefs. Although they claimed to outsiders that they were God-fearing pious folk, secretly they believed the hills were inhabited by spirits and made offerings to them. These entities could appear in an instant from their natural hiding places whenever they wanted to startle a passing traveller.

In January 1657 at Cullen in Forfarshire Margaret Philp was arrested on a charge of practising witchcraft. Her servant, Isobel Imblaugh, who may have been related to Philp's husband as they shared the same surname, testified she had seen her mistress have dealings with a spirit taking the form of a talking hare. Imblaugh said she had seen Philp put out a bannock, a jug of beer and a piece of meat for the sprite and the next morning it was all gone. On another occasion the spirit-hare had allegedly entered the house through an open window and drank the beer left out for it in a bowl. In the 19th century superstitious Highlanders left offerings of milk at 'fairy hills' (prehistoric burial mounds) and standing stones for the faeries known as brownies.

Aspects of pagan moon worship also survived in folk magic and folk customs. People believed warts could be cured by a simple ritual at new moon. When its crescent was first seen in the night sky a handful of soil was taken from under the right foot of the sufferer. This was then made into a paste using the affected person's saliva and spread over the infected part of the skin. This was then covered with a dressing and left until the lunar disc had waxed to full and then waned again. It was removed when the crescent of the next new moon was seen in the sky. It was said that this procedure was always successful in removing the blemish. Unmarried women also performed a ritual at the new moon to divine who their future lovers or husbands would be. When they could see the lunar crescent in the sky they sat astride a gate or stile without any underwear on. They then recited the following charm:

'All hail to thee the moon, All hail to thee, I privy good moon, declare to me, This very night, who my husband shalt be'

Various wells and springs all over Scotland were visited until comparatively recent times for healing purposes. Many of these places were said to have specific properties to heal diseases and illnesses in a throwback to pre-Christian times. For instance any well dedicated to St Tegla was claimed to be able to cure the 'falling sickness', probably dizziness caused by fluctuating blood pressure levels. St John's Well at Balmanno in Kincardshire was frequented by parents taking their children to be cured of rickets, a once common disease caused by malnutrition. St Kilda's Well cured deafness and drinking the waters of Trinity Well in Perthshire was reputed to be able to cure even the so- called Black Death, or bubonic plague.

St Fillan's Well near Tyndwell in Perthshire was visited by those suffering from mental illness. They were first dipped in the water by their carers and then taken to a nearby chapel. Once inside they were tied up and the chapel's bell was placed on top of their heads. The patient was then left in this uncomfortable and rather undignified position overnight. When their relatives returned the next morning at dawn they were supposed to have been cured.

Another well used to try and cure the mentally ill was situated on the isle of St Maelrubla on Loch Moree in Ross and Cromarty. Near the well was a tree where pilgrims hammered coins into its trunk as offerings to the saint or the spirit of the well. There were also the remains of a stone altar on the island allegedly used by the druids to sacrifice bulls on in ancient times. When St Columba arrived in the area he reconsecrated it to the Christian faith.

People suffering from depression, anxiety, or other mental problems were rowed out to the island in boats. Just before reaching landfall they were thrown out into the shallow water and then dragged by ropes the rest of the way to the shore. Once at the well they were forced to drink the water and a piece of their clothing was cut off and hung from one of the branches of the tree. An offering of a coin was then made by hammering it into the trunk. It was said that the well's healing properties were negated when a shepherd threw his mad dog into it. This apparently caused the spirit who inhabited the well to leave.

Some of the holy wells were only potent at certain times of the year. One example was at Craigie, which only possessed healing properties on the first Sunday in May. Its waters were said to be a powerful antidote to all known diseases, malefic witchcraft and the baleful influence of the Good People or faery folk. Crowds gathered at the well and colored threads and scraps of clothing were hung on the shrubs and rocks surrounding it.Other wells were given offerings of pins, needles or coins in a far memory of the sacrifices given to water deities in pagan times.

The prehistoric megalithic monuments of Scotland still retained their special nature after the conversion to the new religion. An ancient custom of holding legal courts at stone circles for settling property and land disputes survived into historical times. The bishop of Aberdeen held one at the Ring of Peddles and a nobleman called William de Saint Michael was summoned to attend it. He was asked to explain why he had seized some property from the Catholic Church. Forty years later the son of King Robert II of Scotland held a special court at a stone circle and called the bishop of Moray to justify why he was making a claim on some land at Badenoch. This ancient custom also survived in Wales. In the 1980s a man asked a council official to meet him on neutral ground at the Pentre Ifan cromlech near Newport in Pembrokeshire to discuss a longstanding property disagreement.

Following the conversion of the pagan Scots prehistoric sites like stone circles, standing stones and burial mounds were popularly believed to be the meeting places of witches, the haunts of spirits of the ancestral dead, and the habitat of faeries, elves and goblins. One witch was seen to regularly visit a local standing stone for unknown purposes of a magical nature. Another, Helen Rogie of Lumpahana, was accused of building a cairn or pile of stones on a hilltop for the practice of alleged 'devil worship.' She was probably making offerings to, or doing rituals involving, the genii loci.

In 1649 the male witch Andro or Andrew Man was accused of setting up a stone as an idol. He was seen to perform a "superstitious ceremony", taking off his hat to bow to it. In his defense Man claimed it was only a boundary stone marking the edge of his land and the beginning of his neighbor's. This is interesting in itself as in prehistoric times standing stones were often erected for just this purpose, to divide one tribe's land from another's. Such boundary makers were also regarded as having a magical liminal significance. The kirk refused to accept Man's explanation and decided he was performing some kind of “heathenish practice". He was ordered to break the stone into four pieces.

One of the earliest recorded examples of witchcraft in Scotland was in the 2nd century CE when King Natholocus consulted a famous witch living on the sacred island of Iona. The King had just lost an important battle with a rebel army who were trying to overthrow him. He sent a messenger to the witch to ask her advice about what he should do next. Unfortunately after consulting the spirits she predicted the King would be murdered. This dastardly deed would not be carried out by one of his enemies, but by somebody close to him who he trusted.

The King's messenger demanded to know by whose treacherous hand his master would be killed. The witch gave a mocking laugh and replied; "Even thine, so shalt be well known within these few days." The man returned to court in some distress and at first he was reluctant to pass the witch's prediction to the King. He thought if he told the truth the King would put him to death. However, if he kept it secret one of the others present might tell the King anyway. Only one possible alternative was left. Just as the witch had predicted, he entered the King's bedchamber during the night and stabbed him dead while he slept.

St Patricus or Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was a 5th century Romano-British subject allegedly kidnapped by Irish pirates and sold as a slave to the king of the Dalriada tribe in Scotia. However an alternative story says that Patrick was forced to flee from his home country of Scotland to Ireland after being attacked by the witches of Dumbarton. He fled in a boat across the sea to escape them as he knew the dark sisterhood were unable to cross water. 

During the 7th century King Kenneth became so concerned at the widespread practice of witchcraft and wizardry in his Scottish kingdom that he passed a new law condemning its practitioners to death. Three hundred years later King Duffus (who reigned from 962 to 966), the son of King Malcolm I, fell ill with a mysterious malady and began to physically fade away. His physicians could not help him and they began to believe some form of witchcraft was involved in the ruler's dramatic and potentially fatal decline in health.

A few days after the King became ill word reached the court that a number of witches had been gathering nearby to magically bring his death. A young girl who worked in the royal kitchens had been overheard threatening Duffus' life. The governor of Forres Castle immediately ordered her to be arrested and interrogated about the alleged plot. She named her own mother as the head of a witches' coven casting spells against the sick King. As a result of the servant girl's confession several women including her mother were detained. They were caught red- handed in the act of roasting a wax image representing the King over a fire. Once the image had been destroyed and the witches summarily executed the King recovered his health.”

—

Scottish Witches and Warlocks

by Michael Howard

[paganimagevault]

Coin of Antiochos VIII Grypos & Sandon 121-96 BC

SELEUKID KINGDOM: Antiochos VIII Grypos, 121-96 BC, AR tetradrachm (15.92g), Tarsos mint, BMC-22, Cohen-1424, diademed head right, fillet border // Sandan standing right on horned lion between two omphaloi; all on a garlanded altar beneath a pyramidal baldacchino; monograms outer left, some porosity, VF, RR. From an old Collection, purchased by the collector in the 1960s with his tag.

"Grypus, having thus recovered his father's throne, and being freed from foreign perils, found his life endangered by a plot of his own mother; who, after betraying, from desire of power, her husband Demetrius, and putting to death her other son, was discontented at her dignity being eclipsed by the victory of Grypus, and presented him with a cup of poison as he was returning home from taking exercise. But Grypus, having received notice of her treacherous intention, desired her (as if to show as much respect for his mother as she showed for him) to drink herself first, and, when she refused, pressed her earnestly, and at last, producing his informant, charged her with the fact, telling her, "that the only way left to clear herself from guilt, was, that she should drink what she had offered to her son." The queen, being thus disconcerted, and her wickedness turned upon herself, was killed with the poison which she had prepared for another."

-Justinus: Epitome of Pompeius Trogus' Philippic Histories, Book 39.2

https://pagancurrencyvault.blogspot.com/2021/03/coin-of-antiochos-viii-grypos-sandon.html

[hawks-and-herons]

Ritual to honor Hermes Tetrakephale

Cast a large circle about 4 foot in diameter to allow for movement within during the ritual. It may be smaller or larger depending on what you wish.

In the center light a candle for Lord Hermes in all forms, be it scented or no. Gather your offerings and the candle and lighter beforehand, as this will help you not have to break your circle.

Begin with the direction you work most with. They are each different, with the directions corresponding to different forms of Hermes.

North: Kthonic aspect. New moon. The beginnings and endings, he sees the end and the beginning at once, as he guides souls.

South: Tricky messenger side. The full moon, and summer. When he is at his full with how we perceive him most often.

East: Merchant and herdsman. Successful and hardworking, building something to last. The waxing moon.

West: Wilderness god. Unfiltered, unrefined, holds the world in his hands and runs through the fields in Arcadia without care. The waning moon. The time before rebirth.

This version of the ritual goes from north to south to east to west. Change as needed for you!

In the northernmost point of the circle pour a libation of wine, some lavender, skulls, leave coins and any other offering to the dead. Pray to Hermes Psychopompos and Hermes Oneiropompus, his guider of souls and guider of dreams aspects. The north is the New Moon and the time of the dead and new beginnings.

In the southernmost point of the circle, offer letters, high energy food or drink in libation, and possibly a herb of some kind that he would enjoy. Here pray to Hermes Argeïphontes and Hermes Sokos Eriounios, his most commonly used epithets relating to his Tricky Messenger of the Gods aspect. The south is tied to the full moon, of celebration and completion.

In the easternmost point of the circle, give foreign money, tools of your trade, written tells of tricks of business, and or animal products (not food). Here you pray to Hermes Hodios and Hermes Poimandres, patrons of Merchants and Herdsmen. The East is connected to the waxing moon, to success and manifestation.

In the westernmost point of your circle, offer strawberries, wild fruits, strong wines, and any other kind of wild offering. Pray to Hermes Diolos, his tricky wild form that dances wildly under the moon. The west is connected to the waning moon, tricks and wilderness.

After completing your ritual, blow out the candle in the center while praying to Hermes and thanking him for his presence. Once you close your circle gather the offerings for additions to his altar or disposal, whichever you see fit.

[docholligay]

SM rewrite: any of haruka's first times meeting the inners

EPisode 92! 1960 words, I hope you enjoy, I AM HAVING FUN TODAY

“He’s SO HOT, Mina.” 

Usagi was off on yet another one of her larks, talking about some guy she’d seen at the arcade. She’d thought, at first, that she was talking about Motoki, who Mina took to be her current obsession who was not Mamoru of the moment, but maybe that had been several moments ago. It was hard to tell with Usagi. 

People always took her and Usagi to be alike, and if that gave Mina the benefit of being underestimated, that was fine with her. And it was true, that they both liked attractive people, in a way, but Mina was more of a freelancer, moving from this flower to that like a brilliant butterfly with no particular link to any one person, while Usagi fell in love with every man she ever met. 

That too. Usagi was still under the impression that she was straight, and the delusion might yet follow her all the way to the wedding altar. That, in particular, was none of Mina’s business, who had realized since the age of 12 that attractive was attractive in her eyes, which became the fact that a bedroom was a bedroom, as she got older, and what it might say on someone’s driver’s license or facebook held little notice for her when it was time to go home. 

Dating, on the other hand--well, she wasn’t bold enough to tell Usagi to never date a man, if she had other options, not while she was still enamored of Mamoru, but she certainly thought it hard enough. Mina had learned that lesson quickly. Men were like riding a roller coaster, exhilarating and fun, for a quick ride, but eventually you just get sick. 

Usagi had not yet learned this, and it was in this that Minako allowed her to keep your youthful naivete. She had time yet to learn. 

“His name is HARUKA,” she swung her bag around, “I heard the cashier say it. Isn’t that dreamy?” 

Mina chuckled, “It’s one of the most popular names in Japan, Usagi. I go to school with like, 4 Harukas.” 

“Well, it seems different on him!” She gave a little scowl and a stomp of her foot, but then smiled brightly and whipped around, “Come to the arcade with me and see him!” She narrowed her eyes playfully, “We can compete to see who he’ll fall in love with.” 

This was the point at which Rei would have chimed in that Usaig had a boyfriend, if she had denied to leave off from her shrine duties and hang out with them after school, but she hadn’t, and Mina didn’t see why something like a boyfriend should get in the way of a good time. 

“Amazing. I hope you like losing.” Mina cackled as she swanned toward The Crown. She hadn’t been in a while, not for any particular reason, other than she was doing a bunch of back work for a hostess club, which she hoped would hire her as a hostess the absolute second she turned 18. Unfortunately, they were too above-board to hire her for anything at the front right now. It was less than a year. She’d live. 

Usagi rushed into the Crown, ever with the perfect idea of how to act casual, and gazed immediately over to the racing game in the corner, hand under her chin as she leaned against an old copy of Pacman. 

“There he is!!!” she stage whispered, hissing as she grabbed Mina’s hand. 

She sighed and turned to tell Usagi that he was going to hear them, but he didn’t look over even at all, and Mina’s brow twitched as she noticed it. His hearing must not be anything to write home about. He was wearing a blazer over the top of a sweater, over the top of a collared shirt, which seemed a bit like overkill to Mina, but hey, maybe he was cold. 

MIna walked over to him, Usagi half-tiptoeing behind in a way that Haruka would find either cute or incredibly unsettling, and based on that, Mina would change her strategy. It was all a sort of chess game, flirting and seduction, and with men maybe it wasn’t even chess. Checkers, or something.

“Hi!” Usagi popped up, “Good afternoon! We saw that you were playing alone here, and were wondering, you know!” 

Mina looped her arm across the back of the car seat, and leaned against it. “Care for a friendly game?” 

Haruka ruffled his hair, and looked up at her, and Mina nearly burst out laughing. She hadn’t noticed, with the bulkiness of the blazer and other entrappings, and she hadn’t looked hard enough when she’d been standing with Usagi, but looking now, there was no mistake. Haruka wasn’t a man at all. Oh, she was tall, and gangly, and even given the sweater probably fairly flat-chested, but there was the unmistakable fullness of her lip, the softness of her brow, the way she looked at Usagi and Mina. Mina was a bit of an expert, in these matters. 

She looked over to Usagi. No reason not to let this play out. Why not, she’d earned some fun. Maybe Usagi would have a moment of realization--Mina doubted she’d ever seen a butch lesbian outside of Takarazuka, and those women were made up to the high heavens, more drag than the genuine article. 

So she smiled. 

“Just a race or two.” 

Usagi started to stammer, and step in front of her, but Mina dodged it effortlessly. Why have one bit of fun, when she could have two? Besides, Usagi may have been wrong about Haruka being a boy, but she wasn’t wrong about a certain quality of rough handsomeness that she carried, that sort of young, gentlemanly way, with a touch of insecurity, that Mina sometimes found very winning about the younger butch set. She could have a worse time. 

“Sure,” Haruka smiled, and nodded, then added, “I always like to play with a pretty girl.” 

Her voice was deep, but not overly so, and Mina found the feminine lilt at the end of her sentences quite charming. She rather liked butches, when it came down to it. They had a habit of picking up the charming parts of masculinity while letting the rest rot where it belonged. 

MIna slid in next to her. She smelled good, like sandalwood and maybe a touch of motor oil, which Mina wouldn’t have thought would be charming. Usagi was salivating as they put their coins into the slot, but she stood and watched Mina. She’d played this game plenty of times, and beaten Usagi at it nearly every time, save when Motoki accidentally spilled a drink on her in the middle of a race. This wouldn’t be too hard, but she would be careful not to humiliate Haruka, and maybe even let her win in the last stretch--

She looked over to the map. Haruka was already out in front, her car on full manual and effortlessly gliding through it, swinging the wheel and tapping on the brake and gas at perfect intervals. 

Minako, for a moment, became just a little enraged. She hadn’t even wanted to win before this moment, but for her to be beaten so easily, by whatever putz of a nerd was too old to be hanging out in an arcade but clearly WAS hanging out in an arcade, on an afternoon, and didn’t she have a job or college or something to go to? 

She slammed down on the gas, trying desperately to catch up, to make a better showin, but Haruka just kept going and going, hitting checkpoints without a second thought, not even the slightest amount of wrinkle to her forehead. 

Besides all that, Usagi was laughing and clapping her hands like the damn fool she was. 

Mina tried to weave around the fake traffic in her way, but ended up broadsiding a bus full of fake schoolchildren, and she imagined their fake screams echoing her own as the Game Over flashed across the screen. She quite forgot her seduction, in the moment, as she slapped the middle of the steering wheel and laid her head down on it. 

“I can’t believe I lost that bad!” 

Haruka chuckled, “No, you actually did pretty good.” 

Mina straightened up, smoothed her hair, and tried to regain herself. 

“Sorry, it’s just,” she giggled, “I get so competitive. The uh….heat of the moment, you know what I mean?” 

Haruka looked at her with a slightly confused sideways grin. “Sure.” 

“Oh but I am sorry, Haruka, mother was forever at lunch, sometimes I swear she asks for things only to see the human limit of what a waiter will bear before smoke begins to run from his ears. It was never my intention to keep you waiting.” 

“Oh, that’s okay.” 

Mina saw Game Over flash across the screen a second time as Haruka looked at the woman who had just entered. 

She was unquestionably beautiful, with a delicately rounded face that suggested a touch of foreignness at the eyes, eyes in green or blue but also somehow both, shifting a bit as the tides. Her hair was elegantly curled to her shoulders, and her carriage was straight and practiced, a show dog out for the afternoon with all the regular mutts. She wore a finely tailored blouse of silk with a demurely pleated skirt, round toe leather on that fit her perfectly on her feet, a bag at her side that was the sort of designer you wore if you were too polished for garishness of advertising that you wore designer. The whole of her felt wrong in the crown, like placing Italian marble in a kid’s playplace, and she smelled of rose and jasmine. 

But none of that was what stopped Mina in her tracks, no, wealth and polish was not enough to frighten her off. It was the look Haruka gave her, that wide-eyed gaze like a tourist standing in front of some great masterwork, and the softness with which she had responded. Mina didn’t know if they were together, or if they weren’t but she knew one thing for sure: 

Haruka was desperately smitten. She could have competed with Usagi for stupid in love, at that point. She and Usagi were getting nowhere with this one. 

Haruka rose to her feet, taking her bag and tossing it over her shoulder in one motion. MIchiru turned to leave the arcade, and Haruka gave a nod back to Usagi. 

“Hey, uh, you with the buns,” She smiled and tossed her hair, “We should play next time.” 

Usagi’s eyes damn near became hearts, but Mina just gave a half-hearted wave and a nod. There were fights you could win, and fights you couldn’t win, and Minako Aino didn’t ever throw effort straight into a fire. She had more of a sense of self-preservation than that. 

Haruka turned to walk next to her companion, who gave her the smallest closed-mouth smile. 

“Well, aren’t we making friends so quickly today?” 

Haruka chuckled. “You jealous or something?” She looked at the woman with what Mina noted was a mix of hope and fear. 

“Oh, terribly.” she answered. This woman knew exactly what Mina knew.

Haruka shook her head, unable to keep up the ruse. “They’re high school girls,” she shrugged, “ They seem like such little kids. But they’re cute, right?” 

“As kittens.” Noted the elegant woman, as they breezed out the door. 

There was a pause for a moment as even Motoki stood beside them to watch them leave, the perfume still hanging in the air as if the entire place were surrounded by petals. Usagi put her hands on her hips. 

“Is it just me, or were they both ridiculously good-looking?”

[sunblinx]

Altar ideas for Hermes

i know there are already a lot of posts like these, but i find them fun to make and i had some neat ideas!

-Board game pieces (especially stuff like monopoly money!)

-Travel tickets

-Sporting event tickets

-Souvenirs and gift shop items

-Random trinkets and coins you find (on his altar space i have a small jar filled with coins and stuff like paperclips and screws i’ve found in parking lots!)

-Crystals associated with luck, prosperity, and/or travel (i like to put aventurine on his altar, that’s what i associate him with most!)

-Dice and card games

-Puzzle games (rubix cubes, for example)

-Green, silver, or white candles (i personally associate scents like strawberry, vanilla, and coffee with him!)

-Car keys

-Rocks from your favorite travel destinations or along the way

-Anything made of silver

-Foreign currency (bonus points if it’s from places you’ve personally travelled and brought back yourself!)

-Old letters/mail

-Stamps

-Strawberries (real, fake, or just imagery)

[that-cryptid]

My current Hades altar !

It’s not much, but i’m slowly adding to it over time :^)

Here’s what’s on it so far : 

Printed paintings of Hades 

Collection of crystals (amethyst, clear quartz sphere, obsidian sphere, rose quartz & selenite)

Bottle of rain or moon water (depends what I can collect)

Jar of offerings (black tea and foreign coins)

A cool candle I thought He’d like

His really cool bowl of offerings 

A really tiny shell that’s hiding behind the crystals but that has great meaning to me

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Sat., May, 22, 2021

 May 9(New cal.)/may22 ( old cal.)

The holy Prophet Isaiah (8th c. B.C.)

     The holy Prophet Isaiah lived 700 years before the Birth of Christ, and was descended of royal lineage. The father of Isaiah, Amos, raised his son in the fear of God and in the law of the Lord. Having attained the age of maturity, the Prophet Isaiah entered into marriage with a pious maiden-prophetess (Is. 8: 3) and had a son Jashub (Is. 8: 18).      Saint Isaiah was called to prophetic service during the reign of Oziah (Uzziah), king of Judea, and he prophesied for 60 years during the reign of kings Joatham, Achaz (Ahaz), Hezekiah and Manasseh. The start of his service was marked by the following vision: he beheld the Lord God, sitting in a majestic heavenly temple upon an high throne. Six-winged Seraphim encircled Him. With two wings they covered their faces, and with two wings – they covered their feet, and with two wings they flew about crying out one to another "Holy, Holy, Holy Lord Sabaoth, heaven and earth art filled of His Glory!" The pillars of the heavenly temple did shake from their shouts, and in the temple swelled the smoke of incense. The prophet cried out in terror: "Oh, accursed a man am I, granted to behold the Lord Sabaoth, and having impure lips and living amidst an impure people!" Then was sent him one of the Seraphim, having in hand a red-hot coal, which he took with tongs from the altar of the Lord. He touched it to the mouth of the Prophet Isaiah and said: "Here, I have touched it to thine lips and the Lord doth do away with thine offences and doth cleanse thy sins". After this Isaiah heard the voice of the Lord, directed towards him: "Whom shalt I send and who wilt go to the Jews, who wilt go for Us?" Isaiah answered: "Here am I, send me, Lord, and I shalt go" (Is. 6: 1ff). And the Lord sent him to the Jews to exhort them to turn from the ways of impiety and idol-worship and to offer repentance. To those that repent and turn to the True God, the Lord promised mercy and forgiveness, but punishment and the judgement of God are appointed the unrepentant. Then Isaiah asked the Lord, how long would the falling-away of the Jewish nation from God continue. The Lord answered: "Until that time, as they neglect the city, nor be there people in the houses and this land be made desolate. Just as when a tree be felled and from the stump come forth new shoots, so also from the destruction of the nation wilt remain an holy remnant, from which emergeth a new tribe".

     Isaiah left behind him a book of prophecy, in which he denounces the Jews for their unfaithfulness to the God of their fathers, and he predicts the captivity of the Jews and their return from captivity during the time of the emperor Cyrus, the destruction and renewal of Jerusalem and of the Temple. Together with this he predicts the historical fate also of the other nations bordering the Jews. But what is most important of all for us, the Prophet Isaiah with particular clearness and detail prophesies about the coming of the Messiah – Christ the Saviour. The prophet names the Messiah as God and Man, Teacher of all the nations, Founder of the Kingdom of Peace and Love. The prophet foretells the Birth of the Messiah from a Virgin, and with particular clearness he describes the Suffering of the Messiah for the sins of the world, he foresees His Resurrection and the universal spreading of His Church. By his clear foretelling about Christ the Saviour, the Prophet Isaiah merited being called an Old Testament Evangelist. To him belong the words: "This One beareth our sins and is smitten for us... He was wounded for our sins and tortured for our transgressions. The chastisement of our world was upon Him, and by His wounds we were healed..." (Is. 53: 4-5. Vide Book of Prophet Isaiah: 7: 14, 11: 1, 9: 6, 53: 4, 60: 13, etc.).      The holy Prophet Isaiah had also a gift of wonderworking. And thus so, when during the time of a siege of Jerusalem by enemies the besieged had become exhausted with thirst, he by his prayer drew out from beneathe Mount Sion a spring of water, which was called Siloam, i.e. "sent from God". It was to this spring afterwards that the Saviour sent the man blind from birth to wash, and for whom was restored sight by Him. By the prayer of the Prophet Isaiah, the Lord prolonged the life of Hezekiah for 15 years.      The Prophet Isaiah died a martyr's death. By order of the Jewish king Manasseh he was sawn through by a wood-saw. The prophet was buried not far from the Pool of Siloam. The relics of the holy Prophet Isaiah were afterwards transferred by the emperor Theodosius the Younger to Constantinople and installed in the church of Saint Lawrence at Blakhernai. At the present time part of the head of the Prophet Isaiah is preserved at Athos in the Khilendaria monastery.      About the times and the events which occurred during the life of the Prophet Isaiah, the 4th Book of Kings [alt. 2 Kings] speaks (Ch. 16, 17, 19, 20, 23, etc.), and likewise 2 Chronicles (Ch. 26-32).

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

Transfer of the Relics of Saint Nicholas, from Lycian- Myra to Bari in Italy 

     Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker, Archbishop of Myra in Lycia – the Transfer of the Relics from Lycian Myra to Bari in Italy: The Vita about his life is located under the 6 December feastday.      In the XI Century the Byzantine Greek empire was living through some terrible times. The Turks put an end to its influence in Asia Minor, they destroyed cities and villages, the murdered the inhabitants, and they accompanied their cruel outrage with the desecration of churches, holy relics, icons and books. The Mussulmen attempted also to destroy the relics of Saint Nicholas, deeply venerated by all the Christian world.      In the year 792 the caliph Aaron Al'-Rashid sent Khumeid at the head of a fleet to pillage the island of Rhodes. Having lain waste this island, Khumeid set off to Lycian Myra with the intent to rob from the tomb of Saint Nicholas. But instead of it he robbed another, standing alongside the crypt of the saint. Just as they succeeded in committing this sacrilege, a terrible storm lifted upon the sea and almost all the ships were shattered into pieces. 

 The desecration of holy things shocked not only Eastern, but also Western Christians. Christians in Italy were particularly apprehensive for the relics of Saint Nicholas, and among them were many Greeks. The inhabitants of the city of Bari, located on the shores of the Adriatic Sea, decided to save the relics of Saint Nicholas.

     In the year 1087 merchants from Bari and Venice set out to Antioch for trade. Both these and others also had proposed on the return trip to take up the relics of Saint Nicholas and transport them to Italy. In this plan the men of Bari commissioned the Venetians to land them at Myra. At first two men were sent in, who in returning reported that in the city – all was quiet, and in the church where rested the glorified relics, they encountered only four monks. Immediately 47 men, having armed themselves, set out for the church of Saint Nicholas. The monk-guards, suspecting nothing, showed them the raised platform, beneathe which was concealed the tomb of the saint, where by custom, they anointed foreigners with myrh from the relics of the saint. The monks told them during this about an appearance of Saint Nicholas that evening to a certain elder. In this vision Saint Nicholas ordered the cautious preserving of his relics. This account encouraged the barons, – they saw an avowal for them in this vision and as it were a decree from the saint. In order to facilitate their activity, they revealed their intent to the monks and offered them money – 300 gold coins. The monk-guards refused the money and wanted to warn the inhabitants about the misfortune threatening them. But the newcomers bound them and put their own guards at the doorway. They took apart the church platform beneathe which stood the tomb with the relics. In this effort the youth Matthew was excessive in his especial zeal, wanting to as quickly as possible to find the relics of Saint Nicholas. In his impatience he broke the cover and the barons saw, that the sarcophagus was filled with fragrant holy myrh. The compatriots of the barons, the presbyters Luppus and Drogus, made a litany, after which the break of Matthew began to flow with myrh from the overflowing sarcophagus of the relics of the saint. This occurred on 20 April 1087.      Seeing the absence of a container chest, presbyter Drogus wrapped the relics in the cover cloth, and in the company of the barons he carried them to the ship. The monks – having been set free, alerted the city with the sad news about the abduction of the relics of the Wonderworker Nicholas by foreigners. A crowd of people gathered at the shore, but it was too late...      On 8 May the ships arrived in Bari, and soon the joyous news made the rounds of all the city. On the following day, 9 May 1087, they solemnly transported the relics of Saint Nicholas into the church of Saint Stephen, situated not far from the sea. The solemn bearing of the relics was accompanied by numerous healings of the sick, which inspired still greater reverence for the Saint of God. A year afterwards a church was built in the name of Saint Nicholas and consecrated by Pope Urban II.      This event, connected with the transfer of the relics of Saint Nicholas, evoked a particular veneration for the Wonderworker Nicholas and was marked by the establishing of a special feastday on 9 May. At first the Feastday of the Transfer of the Relics of Saint Nicholas was observed only by the people of the city of Bari. In the other lands of the Christian East and West it was not adopted, despite the fact that the transfer of the relics was widely known about. This circumstance is to be explained by the custom in the Middle Ages of venerating primarily the relics of local saints. Moreover, the Greek Church did not establish the celebration of this remembrance, since for it the loss of the relics of Saint Nicholas was a sad event.      The Russian Orthodox Church celebration of the memory of the Transfer of the Relics of Saint Nicholas from Lycian Myra to Bari in Italy on 9 May was established soon after the year 1087, on the basis of an already established veneration by the Russian people of the great Saint of God, brought over from Greece simultaneously with the acceptance of Christianity. The glorious accounts about the miracle-workings, done by the saint on both land and sea, were widely known to the Russian people. Their inexhaustible strength and abundance testify to the especially graced help of the great Saint of God for suffering mankind. The image of Saint Nicholas, a mighty Wonderworker and Benefactor, became especially dear to the heart of the Russian people, since it inspired deep faith and hope for his intercession. The faith of the Russian people in the abundant aid of the Saint of God was marked by numerous miracles.      A significant body of literature was compiled about him very early in Russian writings. Accounts about the miracles of Saint Nicholas done in the Russian land were recorded early on in deep antiquity. Soon after the Transfer of the Relics of Saint Nicholas from Lycian Myra to Bari, there appeared a Russian redaction of his Vita and an account about the Transfer of his holy relics, written by one contemporary to this event. Earlier still was written a laudation to the Wonderworker. And each week on Thursday, the Russian Orthodox Church honours his memory in particular.      In honour of Sainted Nicholas were erected numerous churches and monasteries, and with his name Russian people are wont to name their children at Baptism. In Russia are preserved numerous wonderworking icons of the saint. Most reknown among them are the images of Mozhaisk, Zaraisk, Volokolamsk, Ugreshsk and Ratny. There was neither house nor temple in the Russian land, in which there was not an image of Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker. The significance of the graced intercession of the great Saint of God is expressed by the ancient compiler of the Life-Vita, in the words of whom Sainted Nicholas "did work many glorious miracles both on land and on sea, aiding those downtrodden in misfortune and rescuing the drowning, carried to dry land from the depths of the sea, raising up others from corruption and bringing them home, liberating from chains and imprisonment, averting felling by the sword and freeing from death, and granting much healing to many: sight to the blind, walking to the lame, hearing to the deaf, and speech to the mute. He brought riches to many suffering in abject poverty and want, he provided the hungry food and for each in their need he appeared a ready helper, an avid defender and speedy intercessor and protector, and such as appeal to him he doth help and deliver from adversity. Both the East and the West know of this great Wonderworker, and all the ends of the earth know his miracle-working".

     Luke 6:17-23 

17And He came down with them and stood on a level place with a crowd of His disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea and Jerusalem, and from the seacoast of Tyre and Sidon, who came to hear Him and be healed of their diseases,18 as well as those who were tormented with unclean spirits. And they were healed.19 And the whole multitude sought to touch Him, for power went out from Him and healed them all.20 Then He lifted up His eyes toward His disciples, and said: Blessed are you poor, For yours is the kingdom of God. 21 Blessed are you who hunger now, For you shall be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, For you shall laugh. 22 Blessed are you when men hate you, And when they exclude you, And revile you, and cast out your name as evil, For the Son of Man's sake. 23 Rejoice in that day and leap for joy! For indeed your reward is great in heaven, For in like manner their fathers did to the prophets.

Hebrews 13:17-21

17 Obey those who rule over you, and be submissive, for they watch out for your souls, as those who must give account. Let them do so with joy and not with grief, for that would be unprofitable for you. 18 Pray for us; for we are confident that we have a good conscience, in all things desiring to live honorably. 19 But I especially urge you to do this, that I may be restored to you the sooner. 20 Now may the God of peace who brought up our Lord Jesus from the dead, that great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, 21 make you complete in every good work to do His will, working in you what is well pleasing in His sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.

[germanicseidr]

Hercules Magusanus

According to Roman inscriptions found in the Southern Netherlands, Hercules Magusanus was the most important God of the Germanic tribes who lived here. But who is he exactly? We do know that the Romans used Latin names to describe the Germanic Gods but why the added Magusanus?

This God was worshipped all around the Rhine area, fifteen inscriptions have been found that mention his name. Interestingly, all these inscriptions were found near Roman borders. These inscriptions were put on coins, altars, and jewelry.

We know that Hercules is most likely linked to the Germanic God Donar. The name Magusanus has either a Celtic or Germanic origin and means Magu-young sanus-old. He is the combination of young strength and old wisdom. The God himself is often depicted wielding a club instead of a hammer. This is also the same area where Donar keules have been found, jewelry in the shape of a club worn around the neck. Maybe Magusanus' club was a precursor of the famous mjolnir. We know that depictions of the Gods change through the centuries and there is a 1000 year gap between the mjolnirs and the keules.

The most likely theory as to why Hercules Magusanus is different from the Donar we know today is that this God has both Roman and Germanic influences. As I have just described, all attributes linked to this God have been found near Roman borders. Maybe Germanic warriors in service of the Roman empire were influenced by the Roman/Greek God Hercules.

Especially the Batavi tribe worshiped Herculus Magusanus and this same tribe has a rich history of serving the Roman army. So it seems probable that Batavi legionairs added elements of Hercules to their own God Donar. The Batavi also started to copy Roman building styles so it doesn't seem strange they would also absorb religious elements.

Another theory is that when the Romans stumbled upon the God Donar, they tried to assimilate the God into their own pantheon by comparing the God with attributes of their own Gods, in this case Hercules, and thus they named him Hercules Magusanus. This comparing of foreign Gods with the Roman Gods is called interpretatio romana. The new Romanized name caught on by the Batavi and they started to use it as well.

Three temples have been discovered in the Netherlands that were dedicated to Hercules Magusanus, in Elst, Kessel and Empel. In the temple of Empel, a statue of the God has been discovered. The name Magusanus has been found further up the rhine river in modern day Germany. This suggests that the name Magusanus was already in use before the Germanic people came into contact with the Romans, another clue of Roman influence.

Cassianius Latinius Postumus, a Roman governor of Germania Secunda, even made coins with a depiction of the God Hercules Magusanus on them. He did this most likely because he had a close bond with the Batavi people and he defeated the Franks near a temple dedicated to this God.

This God, Donar with Roman influences, still lives on in the Netherlands on the coat of arms of the city Den Bosch.

Here are photos of: A statue found in the Netherlands An altar stone Den Bosch'coat of arms Donar keule