#read: sylvan wood

[williamvrex]

TOM RAWLING CLAIMING HE'S AN ATREIDES ON TERRA AND CLAIMING HE'S TOM RAWLING THE NATURAL RULER OF AN EXTRATERRESTRIAL OR ALIEN WORLD SIMULTANEOUSLY IN DIFFERENT UNIVERSES IN MASSIVE NUMBERS

READ WIKIPEDIA IN RELATION TO TERMS AND NAMES YOU ALREADY KNOW

[treeroutes]

what's up ! non-exhaustive list of stories featuring weird plants :

The Day of the Triffids, John Wyndham

The Night of the Triffids, Simon Clark

In the Tall Grass, Stephen King and Joe Hill

The Boats of the 'Glen Carrig', William Hope Hodgson

The Man Whom the Trees Loved, Algernon Blackwood

The Red Tree, Caitlín R. Kiernan

Annihilation, Jeff VanderMeer

The Willows, Algernon Blackwood

The Nature of Balance, Tim Lebbon

'Bloom', John Langan

The Ruins, Scott Smith

The Wise Friend, Ramsey Campbell

'The Green Man of Freetown', The Envious Nothing : A Collection of Literary Ruins, Curtis M. Lawson

The Beauty, Aliya Whiteley

The Ash-Tree, M.R. James

Canavan's Backyard, J.P. Brennan

Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Jack Finney

The Hollow Places, T. Kingfisher

'Reaching for Ruins', Crow Shine, Alan Baxter

'Vortex of Horror', Gaylord Sabatini

Hothouse, Brian W. Aldiss

Vaster than Empires and More Slow, Ursula K. Le Guin

Odd Attachment, Ian M. Banks

Deathworld #1, Harry Harrison

The Bridge, John Skipp and Craig Spector

'The Garden of Paris', Eric Williams

Apartment Building E, Malachi King

The Seed from the Sepulchre, Clark Ashton Smith

Rappaccini's Daughter, Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Nursery, Lewis Mallory

The Other Side of the Mountain, Michel Bernanos

The Vegetarian, Han Kang

Sisyphean, Dempow Torishima

The Root Witch, Debra Castaneda

Semiosis, Sue Burke

The Wolf in Winter, Charlie Parker #12, John Connolly

Perennials, Bryce Gibson

Relic, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child

Gwen, in Green, Hugh Zachary

The Voice in the Night, William Hope Hodgson

Ordinary Horror, David Searcy

The Family Tree, Sheri S. Tepper

The Book of Koli, Rampart Trilogy #1, M.R. Carey

Seeders, A.J. Colucci

Concrete Jungle, Brett McBean

The Plant, Stephen King

Anthologies/collections :

The Roots of Evil: Weird Stories of Supernatural Plants, edited by Michel Parry

Chlorophobia: An Eco-Horror Anthology, edited by A.R. Ward

Roots of Evil: Beyond the Secret Life of Plants, edited by Carlos Cassaba

The Green Man: Tales from the Mythic Forest, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling

Sylvan Dread: Tales of Pastoral Darkness, Richard Gavin

Evil Roots: Killer Tales of the Botanical Gothic, edited by Daisy Butcher

Weird Woods: Tales From the Haunted Forests of Britain, edited by John Miller

'But fungi aren't plants' :

The Fungus, Harry Adam Knight

Growing Things and Other Stories, Paul Tremblay

The Girl with All the Gifts, M.R. Carey

Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Fruiting Bodies, and Other Fungi, Brian Lumley

'The Black Mould', The Age of Decayed Futurity, Mark Samuels

What Moves the Dead, T. Kingfisher

The House Without a Summer, DeAnna Knippling

Mungwort, James Noll

Fungi, edited by Orrin Grey and Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Trouble with Lichen, John Wyndham

Notes :

all links lead to the goodreads page of the book, mostly because i like to look at book cover art ;

list features authors/books that i love (T. Kingfisher, Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Ursula K. Le Guin, the collections from the British Library Tales of the Weird, etc.), but also a few that i don't like and some that i have not yet read ;

if upon seeing that list the first novel you check out is by Stephen King's you have not understood the assignment ;

not all of those are strictly horror stories, some are 100% science fiction (Brian W. Aldiss' Hothouse for instance).

[the-whatcherof-89]

LDShadowlady aka Lizzie “Elizabeth” D.Titania Queen of Animalia.

CR 18 NG Medium Humanoid (Native Outsider Shapechanger)

XP 153,600 (if used as npc for encounter)

Undine Animal lord(Cat) Druid(Pack Lord)16

Neutral Good Medium humanoid (Native Outsider Shapechanger)

Init +8; Senses Perception +37

AC 28, touch 19, flat-footed 22 (+1Natural, +6Dex, +8Armor, +3Deflect) hp 187 (16d8+187)

Fort +18, Ref +15, Will +20

Speed Land 30ft, Climb 20ft, Swim 30ft. Melee Bite+18 1D6+6, Claws+18 1D4+6, Trident+19 1D8+7, Spells. RangedCrossbow+23 1D10+3, Spells.

Racial Amphibious, Deepsight, Hydrated vitality, Water sense, Scent, Low-light vision, Climb speed, Pounce, Rake, Natural attacks(Bite 1D6, Claws 1d4), Leap(+16 Acrobatics), Dominion(speak with animals Charm animals CL16th), DR10/silver.

Traits Natural-born leader, Lovesick.

Class features Pack-bound, Wild emphaty, Nature sense, Woodland stride, Trackless steps, Resist nature’s lure, Wildshape 6/day, Venom immunity, Thousand faces, Timeless body.

Animal companions Sea cat(lv8th) Leopard(lv8th)

Spellcasting CL16 DC18 Domains Daily spellcasting 4/6/6/6/6/5/4/4/3

0-Detect magic, Purify food and water, Create water, Read magic, Mending.

I- Goodberry, Entangle, Barkskin, Mud ball, Negate aroma, Cure light wounds. 

II-Animal aspect, Barkskin, Warp wood, Lay of the land, Restoration lesser, Tree shape.

III-Air geyser, Cure moderate wounds, Cloak of winds, Resist energy (communal), Magic fang greater, Call lighting.

IV-Aggressive thundercloud (greater), Cure serious wounds, Dispel magic, Freedom of movement, Reincarnate, Thorn body.

V-Call lighting storm, Cure critical wounds, Hungry earth, Animal growth, Stoneskin.

VI-Dispel magic greater,  Sirocco, Wall of stone, Move earth.

VII-Animate plants, Heal, Sunbeam, True seeing.

VIII-Earthquake, Whirlwind, Mass cure serious wounds.

Str 20, Dex 26, Con 22, Int 16, Wis 26, Cha 20

Base Atk +12/7/2; CMB +15; CMD +23

Feats Cosmopolitan(Knowledge Nobility, Diplomacy, Giant, Alko), Steam caster, Leadership, Divine interference, Natural spell, Powerful shape, Craft wondrous magic items, Weapon finesse(Natural attacks).

Skills Acrobatics+31, Climb+16, Craft(Stone&Wood)+20, Diplomacy+18, Fly+12, Handle animal+12, Heal+12, Knowledge (Geography+7, Nature+20, Nobility+7), Perception+27, Perform(Dance)+16, Profession(Engineer)+27, Ride+12, Spellcraft+20, Stealth+15(+4 while in undergrowth), Survival+20, Swim+28.

Leadership score (22) Cohort lv14th Followers I-110 II-11 III-6 IV-3 V-2  VI-1

Languages Common, Aquan, Druidic, Sylvan, Draconic, Giant Alko, Feline emphaty.

Combat gear Trident of fish command, Animalia’s regalia: Striker(Frost Huntsman Heavy underwater Crossbow+2), 50+1 Corrosive bolts, Living steel sickle, Animalia regalia: Commander(Darkleaf Wild breastplate of command), Ring of protection+3, Headband of mental prowess+4(Int, Wis, Perception), Cloak of resistance+2, Boots of the cat, Amulet of mighty fists+1, Ring of the sea strider, Ring of energy resistance major(Electric), Rod of splendor, Sleeves of many garments, Undine chain belts, Tome of understanding+2(used), Potions: Displacement(2), Magic fang greater (2), 4 Potions sponges, Jewelry worth 300GP, Druid’s kit, 4705GP.

Background Elizabeth was a powerful queen whom ruled from her ocean palace over the kingdom of Animalia which respected animals above all else. There was just one SMALL problem: She fell in love with Joel ruler of the land kingdom of Mezlana. For a long time, both of them met in secret while sending each other letters using their secret names: LDShadowlady and Smallishbeans. Things changed when Joel ascended to “godhood” after he drank from a magical fountain. Drunk with power, she almost abandoned him for the new god was different from the gentle and friendly man that was once. When he lost his powers, and his kingdoms, Lizzie abdicated her throne to return to his side for she saw what truly that man was deep down. Along with their fellow Hermits Grian, Mumbo, Rendog and Impulse they left and got married and started a new life. Between the founding of the Pixel Pact(and his disbandment), her love for all fluffy creatures and dancing (sometimes awkwardly) with Joel she was having a good life building various nature-oriented builds. “A wish limited only by your imagination.” She was planting flowers near a vast riverbed when she heard the voice. “What would you wish for?” She thought it was a prank from his husband. “Well… since you insist my dear genie of the lamp… i wouldn’t mind returning to my old kingdom for a romantic date.” The sound if finger snapping was heard. “It is done.” She was instantly transformed and sent into another world never seen before, she was in an underwater palace, in a royal bedroom, very similar to her original one, but slightly different. “Let the game begin. If you want my wish you must find me. Your husband is also invited.” She jolted. “What did you just say?!” The door knocked. “Your majesty are you alright?” She turned around toward the door to then back to look for the mysterious voice, it was gone. She turned toward the mirror looking at herself in her royal outfit: “Well now, i am in DEEP SEA trouble am i now?"

THE IMAGE DOES NOT BELONG TO ME

LINK FOR THE IMAGE:

[unanswered-stars]

The Ending of Darkness

Mithras x Sylvan

This little drabble is brought to you courtesy of the lovely @jules-writes-stories and her wonderful OCs from Just Enough Light to Cast Shadows that I have simply fallen in love with.

Read here on ao3 or below the cut

🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂

The plink, plink, plink, of water on stone rang loudly through the dark cavern. Stale air heavy with the stench of rot and fear coated the very walls. The smallest twinkle of jade peered from the shadows, the only spot of brightness in the small space.

Ragged breath passed through pale pink lips, the sound of hurt, loneliness, and desperation, a whisper in a windless world.

Memories danced between the spaces of nothing and darkness in the depths of the mountain.

Flashes of Auburn hair wrapped around long pale fingers. The faint scent of wood smoke, cinnamon, and pears tickled his nose. Warm arms wrapped tightly against his chest, drawing him closer to the peaceful sleeping fae beside him. Russet eyes swimming in so much love and affection he could have drowned in it.

The taste of salt on a tongue darting out to wet parched lips. A grime-covered hand swept away another tear before it joined the first, pressing against those jade eyes until stars danced behind closed lids.

The only feeling beyond his own skin was the stones of the floor below. No longer did a smile radiating joy and love warm the depths of his soul, instead the cold stones leached away any warmth and stole it away to places unknown till he was nothing more than a shivering mass of limbs.

A soft smile curving those perfect pink lips. Strong hands grasped in his own, guiding him through the Autumn woods. Gentle fingers against his jaw pushing their kiss deeper. A gentle melody floated on the winds as the prince hummed an ancient lullaby against his pointed ear long after he thought the darkling was sleeping.

Lithe fingers tangled in pale blonde hair, tearing from the root as though he could rip the memories away with his bare hands.

There was no returning from what he had done. No apology he could utter. No depth to which he could grovel would be a sufficient covering for his sins.

Should he ever be blessed by the presence of those beloved russet eyes they would hold nothing but hatred and sadness for what he had broken.

For he had broken a precious thing. A sacred thing. The only good thing that had ever happened to him in the entirety of his long life and he had broken it.

He did as he had always done. He lied.

“I do not love you. I could never love you.”

He had broken the only pure and lovely thing that willing wandered into his darkness and accepted him for what it was. Something he was undeserving and unworthy of in every way and yet he had been given it all and more only to turn and run away from the only one who had ever truly loved him.

So there he sat, alone, in the dark, broken for centuries untold. Until his body became one with the mountain once more and his soul was swept away beyond the edges of the world.

There was no moment of silence or great pause, life kept on, unchanging, as the soul raced the stars across the night sky.

But somewhere, deep in the forest of Autumn, a gentle voice filled with pain, sadness, and longing sang a lullaby long forgotten.

The winds of the world swept up the quiet song, flying alongside the soul between the stars as the rays of the sun made their way into the sky. And at last, Mithras could rest.

Characters by @jules-writes-stories

Drabble, moodboard, and all quotes within moodboard are from yours truly

[starry-slithers]

CHAT TODAYS THE DAY

In honour of this I’m writing a oneshot coz I’m special like that.

Sylvan Fyrevale x Cariad Faiythe x Ekrizdis Mors (Syl and Riz belong to @rene-hl-trashcan guys. Check her out she’s my mum.)

A/N: had to rush this coz tutoring. I’ll edit bc poor Riz and Syl I did y’all so dirty

Cariads running late to potions. Why does the whole room smell like her boyfriends?

“Miss Faiythe!” Barked Professor Sharp when she tried sneaking through the door to enter the classroom. “10 points from Slytherin for lateness.”

“Please da- I mean sir- I was helping Professor Garlick out with the mandrakes. Their pot got knocked over by a student leaving so I was helping her clear up.” Ever since Fig died, Sharp had become her father figure, so she’d nearly slipped up. But his gaze softened. “Fine. Have a seat.”

Cariad walked over to her usual potions table with Sylvan and Riz and smiled at them. Sylvan squeezed her hand with a smirk. Of course Cariad Faiythe was late to class for being too helpful. But there was something in the air…sweets, hot chocolate and inky parchment? And a hint of cool winter breeze- like the ancient wisdom of a snow covered forest.

She leant over to Riz.

“My love? How much bloody hand lotion did you use today, it’s practically all I can smell!”

“Miss Faiythe!” Snapped Sharp again. “Come to the front.” She timidly walked towards a cauldron at the front.

“What can you smell?”

She found it an odd question.

“The woods, like the forbidden forest in January…hot chocolate, like a cozy night in autumn…and that feeling where you fall asleep reading and suddenly take a breath of fresh air…” She trailed off but suddenly realised people were still listening so she cleared her throat.

“But uhm- I can’t identify the ingredients, sir.”

“Mr Fyrevale, if you don’t stop snickering you’ll join Miss Faiythe at the front.”

Sylvan had a shit eating grin plastered on his face and walked over anyways.

“I’m assuming you want me to elaborate on what I smell?”

Sharp gave a curt nod of approval.

“Sugar…like a winter wonderland bakery.” He smirked at Cariad. “And same as dear Miss Faiythe here, I also smell candies. Like a sweet lotion.” He glanced at Riz. Then it dawned on her.

Amortentia

And she’d just confessed what she’d smelt to the whole class. Embarrassment burned on her cheeks in a blotchy pink and Sylvan bent down to kiss her cheek swiftly while Sharp was occupied glaring at Garreth.

They took their seats again and Riz was smirking at Cariad.

“Still think I put on too much hand cream or have you finally realised?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Awwwww, you smell us in your amortentia, how romantic.” Sylvan poked her side with a grin. She playfully swatted his hand away.

“What can I say, I love you two.”

“Don’t go getting sappy now.” Her partners teased. She giggled. But it was true. She really did love them, and the fact that every aspect of her amortentia reminded her of them was proof enough.

[aroaessidhe]

Read in August

audio favourites

My Throat an Open Grave - 3.25

Flawless Girls - 3.5

The Dark We Know (arc) - 4

Mrs Mix Up - 3

The Gracekeepers - 4

Smile and be a Villain - 3.75

The Dead Cat Tail Assassins - 4.25

Earthflown - 3.25

Welcome, Caller - 3.25

Babel-17 - 4

Rakesfall - 3.5

The Eternal Ones - 3.5

Girls Night - 3.75

This Ravenous Fate - 3.5

So Witches We Became - 3.75

Outdrawn - 3.5

Dragonfruit - 4

And The Sky Bled - 3.5

The Butcher of the Forest - 4.25

Sailing By Gemini’s Star - 4.5

The Maid and The Crocodile - 4.5

The Loudest Silence - 3.5

Lockjaw - 3.75

Asking For A Friend - 3.75

As Born to Rule The Storm - 4.25

The Savior’s Rise - 4

graphic novels

Through The Woods - 4

Bibliomania - 4

Heartwood: Non-binary Tales of Sylvan Fantasy - 4

Prokaryote Season - 5

Shades of Fear - 5

Ready or Not - 4

The Baker & The Bard - 3

Wildful - 4.5

[paperandsong]

Les Pierres-Sottes

From Légendes rustiques, illustrated by Maurice Sand, written by George Sand, 1858

Original French at Project Gutenberg

English translation:

“When we came to pass near the stones,” said Germain, “it was near midnight. All of a sudden, there they were, looking at us with eyes. We had never seen them do that by day, even if we had passed by more than a hundred times. We were feverish with fear, more than three months after the harvest.”

Maurice SAND

In the middle of the limestone plains of the Black Valley, we see an area abruptly open up, strewn with magnificent blocks of granite. Are they what one must call erratic, due to their random appearance in regions where they could only have been brought by floods from ancient times? Or did they form there on the ground where they are found grouped together? This last hypothesis seems negated by their form; they are almost all rounded on at least one side and they have the appearance of gigantic pebbles rolled by the waves.

Nothing remains there now but charming little streams, pressed and twisted into infinite meanders between the massive blocks. These laughing, fleeting little naiads whisper, in a low voice and at bizarre intervals, mysterious words in an unknown language. Elsewhere, the waters roar, sing, or gurgle. There, they speak but so discreetly that only the attentive ear of the sylvans can understand them. In the holes where their streams flow together, there are sometimes silences; then, when the little cave fills up, the overflow rushes out and reveals, with some hurried words, some kind of secret - I do not know what - that the flowers and grass, excited by the air around them, seem to grab and greet as it passes them by.

In the distance, the waters rush in and get lost under the piled up blocks:

And there, in the depths, 

murmurs a wave,

that no one can see.

On these humid rocks grow plants that are equally foreign to the soil of the region. The ményanthe, that little hyacinth curled and jagged, whose leaves are the same as the clover; the foxglove, sprinkled with black and white, like the granite stone where it prefers to grow; the sun rose (rosea solis); the charming saxifrage, and a variety of ivy with small leaves, which trace graceful arabesques on the grey blocks where it is believed one can read mysterious symbols.

Around this sanctuary, magnificent trees grow, slender beeches and monstrous chestnut trees. It was in one of these undulating woods, sown with loose rocks, like those of the forest of Fontainebleau, that one year I found such splendid vegetation and thick shadows to the point that the sun, even at midday, filtered through the foliage such that it could not penetrate the trunks of the trees and the moss covered ground except in cold tones similar to the greenish light of the moon.

There is not a corner of France where these large rocks do not vividly strike the imagination of the peasant, and when certain legends are linked to them, you can be certain, whatever the hesitation of the antiquarians may be, that the place has been consecrated by the cult of ancient Gaul.

There are also names that, despite the corruption brought by time, have enough meaning to destroy any doubt. There is a certain place in the Brenne region where one finds the well-maintained name of the Druiders. Elsewhere one finds the durders, and in Crevant, the Dorderins. Enormous granite stones sprout at the top of a conical mound. The highest looks like a small mushroom seated on small supports. It could be a trick of nature, but that’s no reason why it couldn’t have been consecrated with sacrifices. Besides, it is called the great Dorderin. As they say, the great altar of the Druids.

A little bit farther, behind an overgrown ravine flooded with water, the parelles rise up. Does this mean pareilles (pair), jumelles (twins) or does the word come from patres just like marses or martes comes from matres (malignant fairy) according to our antiquarians [3]? These parelles or patrelles are two masses, almost identical in volume and height, which stand like two towers on the edge of a natural terrace of fairly extensive development. Their base rests on smaller seats. I found a piece of ironwork there, which gave me a lot to think about. This place is far from any dwelling place and has never seen anything sitting upon the rough edges of its flooded depths. What was a blacksmith’s slag doing under the grass, in this wilderness where even the herds do not go? So there had been a great hearth there, and perhaps a custom of sacrifice? 

I mentioned this place because it is almost unknown. Our stories from Berry only mention it to give it a name and place it hypothetically and vaguely among the Celtic monuments. However, it is of great interest from mineralogical, historical, picturesque, and botanical points of view.

Half a league away we could still see, a few years ago, the trou aux Fades (the Fairy Cave), which the owner of a neighbouring field thought appropriate to bury under the earth, apparently to protect himself from the malignant influences of these martes. It was a dwelling visibly carved out of the rock and made up of two rooms, separated by a sort of open partition. The peasants thought they saw, in a rounded recess, the oven where anchorites had once baked their bread. However, this hermitage had not been consecrated by the stay of good Christian souls. Devotion later took hold, as everywhere else, to establish pilgrimages there and at the very least to install a blessed image. Far from it; this was a bad place where one was careful not to pass. No path was traced in the brambles; the peasants say that the fairies were wild women of old, and that they commanded white she-wolves eat children there.

Why is the ancient fame of the Gallic priestesses, depending on the locality, sometimes disastrous and sometimes benign? We know that there have been different cults, successively victorious one over the other, before and, it is even said, during the Roman occupation. Where the ancient priestesses remained tutelary spirits, we can be sure that the belief was sublime; where they are no more than ferocious ghouls, the cult must have been bloody. The martes, which we named in connection with the fades, are male and female spirits. In the rocks where the Porte-feuille torrent rushes, near Saint-Benoît-de-Sault, they appear in both forms and, whatever sex they belong to, they are equally formidable. The males, they are still busy raising the dolmens and menhirs scattered on the surrounding hills; the females, with their hair flowing down to their heels and their breasts hanging down to the ground, run after the ploughmen who refuse to help with their mysterious work. They beat them and torture them until they abandon their plough and team in broad daylight. A very picturesque waterfall among bizarrely shaped rocks is called the Aire aux Martes [4]. When the waters are low, we can see the stone utensils used in their cooking. Their men set the table, that is to say, they set the dolmen stone on its foundations. As for the women, they try madly, vain and fanciful spirits that they are, to light a fire in the Montgarnaud waterfall and boil their granite pot there. Furious at their constant failure, their cries and imprecations resound. Is this not the figurative story of an overthrown cult, which made vain efforts to rise again?

In the plain of our Fromental, nothing has remained of these symbolic traditions. Only a few isolated stones in the liminal region between limestone and granite are looked at askance by lingering passers-by. These stones take form and make more or less threatening grimaces, depending on whether the curious glances of the disrespectful displease them more or less. It is said that they would speak if they could, and that truly skilled sorcerers, that is to say very learnèd ones, can force the stones to say good evening. But they are so stubborn and narrow-minded that we have never been able to teach them more. Sometimes we pass by them without seeing them; because in reality, they say, the stones are no longer there. They have gone for a walk, and they must quickly travel as far as possible from the path they must take to return to their accustomed place. We do not say whether, like the Breton peulvans (stone pillars), they go to drink at some nearby source of water. There are many who are as stupid as they are wicked, because they sometimes go to the wrong place, and people who see them one evening lying on a barren moor see them again the next day, at the same time, standing in a planted field. They cause damage and brutally break through the fences. But the most prudent thing is not to warn the owner because, apart from the fact that it would be quite impossible for him to remove these immobile lumps, “even if he used twelve pairs of oxen”, it could well be that they would take a fancy to crushing him. Besides, they are condemned to return to their place; if they can’t remember how to find it right away, it's too bad for them: they will wander for a year, if necessary, running on along their edges, which really tires them out, and they are forbidden to rest other than by standing until they have returned to the place where they are permitted to lie down.

We have sometimes seen these stones called pierres-caillasses or pierres-sottes (foolish stones). These are really cavernous limestones, whose numerous and irregular holes easily give one the idea of monstrous figures. When the road inspectors come across one within their reach, they break them up and they get what they deserve.

We want to too, although these poor stones have never done us any harm. However, it is assured that if we do not hurry to break them apart and use them, they will leave the side of the road where they have been placed and they will stand, at night, right in the middle of the road, causing horses to be killed and carriages to overturn. The moral is: the valet should not lie down and fall asleep in his cart.

As for you, strong minds, who ask why a large stone is in this hedgerow or at the edge of that ditch, if you are answered with a mysterious air: Oh! it’s not going to stay there! Know what this means and don’t amuse yourself by looking at it: you could put it in a bad mood against you and find it the next day in your garden, right in the middle of your melon bells or your flowerbeds. 

George SAND

[blairstales]

Scottish Historical Beltane/May Day

Bealtiunn (Beltane) is a cross-quarter day, meaning it is approximately half-way between a equinox and solstice. Due to this, it was one of the four main fire festivals of the year, and a time when the veil between our world and the otherworld was said to thin. This was thought to allow fairies in particular to be extra dangerous.

"The first–called “Beltaine” in Ireland, “Bealtiunn” in Scotland, “Shenn da Boaldyn” in the Isle of Man, and “Galan-Mai” (the Calends of May) in Wales–celebrates the waking of the earth from her winter sleep, and the renewal of warmth, life, and vegetation. " Celtic Myth and Legend by Charles Squire[1905]

It was once a huge celebration that may even last a whole week, but it also served as a marker for when to start farming practices. For example, it marked when to sow barley, or put cattle out to graze.

Due to the pagan origins of the day, opposition towards May Day celebrations was not uncommon, and eventually led to it’s fall in popularity.

"In 1696 a number of persons were tried before the Kirk Session of Aberdeen and censured for celebrating May Day morning." Primitive Beliefs in the North-East of Scotland

For customs click "keep reading." ⬇

May Pole

May Poles are a pole that was raised on beltane and raised with a crown of flowers on the top.

“The May Pole is up , Now give me the cup, I’ll drink to the garlands around it, But first unto those Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown’d it.” “Faiths and Folklore: Volume 2,” By William Carew Hazlitt (1905)

It was also often decorated with flowers, leafy garland, ribbons, and more. Thought to be a fertility symbolism, with it came the queen and king of May.

"We may infer,’ says Frazer, ‘that our rude forefathers personified the powers of vegetation as male and female and attempted, on the principle of homeopathic or sympathetic magic, to quicken the growth of trees and plants by representing the marriage of the sylvan deities in the persons of a King and Queen of May, a Whitsun Bridegroom and Bride, and so forth. Such representations… were charms intended to make the woods to grow green, the fresh grass to sprout, and the flowers to blow. And it was natural to suppose that the more closely the mock marriage of the leaf-clad or flower-clad mummers aped the real marriage of the woodland sprites, the more effective would be the charm." Silver Bough 2 By F. Marian McNeill

Dressing the Home

Due to the veil being thinner, all sorts of supernatural dangers were thought to be at play. To counteract that, people dressed their homes in flowers, greenery, and other decorations.

“To counteract their evil power pieces of the rowan-tree and woodbine, chiefly of rowan-tree, were placed over the byre doors, and fires were kindled by every farmer and cottar. “ “Notes on The Folk-Lore of the North-East of Scotland,” By Walter Gregor (1881)

It was not just leafy garlands, however, but flowers as well.

"In the country west of Glasgow it is still remembered how once the houses were adorned with flowers and branches on the first of May” “Essays in the study of Folk-Songs,” by Countess Martinengo-Cesaresco (1886)

May-Dew

The very first thing many girls wanted to do in the morning was race out to collect the morning dew.

“COUNTY OF EDINBURGH. At Edinburgh about four o’clock in the morning there is an unusual stir ; and a hurrying of gay throngs through the King’s Park to Arthur’s Seat to collect the May-dew.” “British Popular Customs, Present and Past; Illustrating the Social and Domestic,” by T. F. Thiselton-Dyer (1876)

Depending on the area, where you would collect it from may change. It might be from a specific hill of grass or a specific type of trees.

This liquid, called may-dew, was said to have curative or beautifying powers.

"It was long an article of popular faith in Eastern and Western Europe , that a maiden , washing herself with dew from the hawthorn on the first day of May at daybreak , would preserve her beauty for ever, the operation being of course annually repeated.” “Faiths and Folklore: Volume 2,” By William Carew Hazlitt (1905)

“Till quite lately there was a belief in some parts of England that a weakly child would be made strong by being drawn over dewy grass on the morning in question. To effect a complete cure, the treatment had to be repeated on the two following mornings.” “Folklore of Scottish Lochs and Springs,” by James M. Mackinlay (1893)

However, the dew inside a fairy ring would have the opposite intended effect.

“May-dew from the grass was equally efficacious, except when gathered from within a fairy ring, as the fairies would in that case counteract the influence of the charm.” “Folklore of Scottish Lochs and Springs,” by James M. Mackinlay (1893)

Egg Rolling

Egg rolling, something we trend to associate with Easter, was occasionally practiced on Beltane. Colorfully decorated eggs would be rolled down a hill.

"Egg rolling, something we trend to associate with Easter, was occasionally practiced on Beltane. Colorfully decorated eggs would be rolled down a hill." “The Folk-lore Journal, Volume 7; Volume 24,” By Folklore Society (Great Britain)

Visiting Healing Wells

“Besides saining with fire, there was also saining with water, and Beltane was the great season for visiting “magic” or “holy” wells. The custom has by no means died out, the most notable survival being the annual “pilgrimage” to the Cloutie Well on Culloden Moor, near Inverness, which described elsewhere.” The silver bough vol 2

Visits to healing wells was a common occurrence for people on May day.

Two centuries earlier an attempt was made by the kirk-session of Perth to put a stop to an annual gathering on May Day at a cave in the face of Kinnoul hill adjoining the town. This cave was called the Dragon Hole, and was the scene of ancient rites of a superstitious nature. Other illustrations might be selected from the Folklore of May Day, but those given above show that the season was held in much superstitious regard. Accordingly, we need not be surprised that well-worship took its place among the rites of May Day, and of May Month also, since the whole of May was deemed a charmed time. "Folklore of Scottish Lochs and Springs" (in regards to Hone’s Every-Day Book on Edinburgh)

Mock Human Sacrifice

During the quarter days, quarter cakes were eaten ritually. For Beltane, this was called bannoach Bealltain or Beltane Cakes.

"Beltane cakes were also made at Keith, being baked the day before. The upper side was watered with a batter, made of whisked eggs, milk, and oatmeal. Struan Michaels and Beltane bannocks were prepared in Ross-shire down to the close of the nineteenth century." “Primitive Beliefs in the North-East of Scotland,” by Joseph McKenzie McPherson (1929)

Exactly how they were eaten would depend on the area.

"In Caithness, within the last seventy years, each family in the neighbourhood of Watten carried bread and cheese to the top of a hill called Heathercrow and left it there. After sunrise, the herds might take away the spoil for their own homes." “Primitive Beliefs in the North-East of Scotland,” by Joseph McKenzie McPherson (1929)

For some, it involved a mock human sacrifice.

The boys would go out, kindle a fire, have a meal, and sing and dance around it for fun. After, someone would produce a bannock and divide it for the group.

"Towards the close of the entertainment, the person who officiated as master of the feast produced a large cake baked with eggs and scalloped round the edge, called am bonnach bea-tine—i.e., the Beltane cake. It was divided into a number of pieces, and distributed in great form to the company.John Ramsay, laird of Ochtertyre, near Crieff, the patron of Burns and the friend of Sir Walter Scott." The Golden Bough by Sir James George Frazer[1922] Chapter 62. The Fire-Festivals of Europe

One piece stood out from the others, and the person who picked it was doomed to be “sacrificed.” It was just a symbolized sacrifice and the group would act as if (but would not actually) throw the person into the fire.

“There was one particular piece which whoever got was called cailleach beal-tine—i.e., the Beltane carline, a term of great reproach. Upon his being known, part of the company laid hold of him and made a show of putting him into the fire; but the majority interposing, he was rescued. “ John Ramsay, laird of Ochtertyre, near Crieff, the patron of Burns and the friend of Sir Walter Scott." "The Golden Bough" by Sir James George Frazer[1922] Chapter 62. The Fire-Festivals of Europe.

Unfortunately for the poor boy, the victim would then be referred to as dead for as long as people remembered for the year.

“Similarly at the Beltane fires in Scotland the pretended victim was seized, and a show made of throwing him into the flames, and for some time afterwards people affected to speak of him as dead.” “The Golden Bough,” by Sir James George Frazer (1922)

Luckily, in other places, the sacrificed only had to jump the fire(typically either three or seven times), then that would be the end of it.

“….then lots are cast, and he on whom the lot falls, must leap seven times over the fire, while the young folks dance round in a circle. Then they cook their eggs and cakes, and all sit down to eat and drink and rise up to play.” Old Scottish Customs, Local and General by Ellen Emma Guthrie 1885

For others, it was not as dramatic.

"While the fire was blazing, a common meal was partaken, part of which was offered to the spirit of the fire." “Primitive Beliefs in the North-East of Scotland,” by Joseph McKenzie McPherson (1929)

After making and kneading a bannock, the boys would bake it on a flat stone placed on embers. When it is properly baked, they divide it to the same number of people there is in the group (trying to keep the pieces the same shape).

"They kindle a fire , and dress & repast of eggs and milk of the consistence of a custard . They knead a cake of oatmeal , which is toasted at the embers against a stone . After the custard is eaten up , they divide the cake into so many portions , as similar as possible to one another in size and shape , as there are persons in the company ." PERTHSHIRE . In Sinclair’s Stat . Acc . of Scotland ( 1794 , vol . xi . p . 620 ) British Popular Customs, Present and Past; Illustrating the Social and Domestic

Only one piece is selected and covered with charcoal until it is completely black.

That done, all the pieces are placed in a bonnet, and everyone is blindfolded to pick out a piece. The person who is holding the bonnet gets the last.

Whoever was unlucky enough to pick up the black piece is the symbolized sacrifice and must jump the fire three times.

“The boy, to whose share the black piece falls, is obliged to leap three times through the flames, at which the repast was prepared.” Statistical Account of Scotland, 1794, XI. 620, Witchcraft & Second Sight in The Highlands and Islands of Scotland

For others still, they would take a bannock, face towards the fire, and break a piece of the bannock while throwing it over the shoulder as an offering of protection. The request was different for each throw.

‘This I give to thee, preserve thou my horses,’ and ‘This to thee, preserve thou my sheep,’ and so on. After that they use the same ceremony to the noxious animals, This I give thee, O fox, spare thou my lambs! This to thee, O hooded crow! This to thee, O eagle!’ When the ceremony is over they dine on the caudle.” “Primitive Beliefs in the North-East of Scotland,” by Joseph McKenzie McPherson (1929)

Fires

The Beltane fires were man’s response to the attack of the powers of darkness which were believed to be abroad with peculiar force at this season. “Primitive Beliefs in the North-East of Scotland,” by Joseph McKenzie McPherson (1929)

A large heap of old thatch, straw, or other materials were piled. Traditionally, this was done on a hill.

“To the south of the Forth several sites are known to have been specially associated with Beltane fires. In Lanarkshire two such sites were, the hills of Tinto and Dechmont. “Tinto, indeed, means the hill of fire. It was used for beacon-fires as well as for those connected with nature-festivals, and was well adapted for the purpose, being 2335 feet above the sea, and 1655 feet above the Clyde at its base. Though not nearly so high, Dechmont hill commands a splendid view over the neighbouring country. Early in the present century a quantity of charcoal was discovered near its summit hidden beneath a stratum of fine loam. The country people around expressed no surprise at the discovery, as they were familiar with the tradition that the spot had been used for the kindling of Beltane fires. In Peeblesshire, too, the Beltane festival long held its ground. Folklore of Scottish Lochs and Springs

For some, this would serve as the need-fire; which was a purification fire that was lit by friction.

"Tein-ēigin, neid-fire, need-fire, forced fire, fire produced by the friction of wood or iron against wood." Carmina Gadelica, Volume 2, by Alexander Carmicheal, [1900]

It was a saining practice done on quarter-days, when there was some sort of calamity, or just when someone needed extra luck for an especially important event. It was considered bad luck to bring fire out of the house or gift any to someone on the day. For Bealtane, two fires might be lit, and cattle would be driven through to purify them.

"When the sacred fire became kindled, the people rushed home and brought their herds and drove them through and round the fire of purification, to sain them from the ‘bana bhuitseach mhor Nic Creafain,’–the great arch witch daughter Cranford, Mac Creafain, now Crawford." Carmina Gadelica, Volume 2, by Alexander Carmicheal, [1900]

After, the ashes would be scattered, sometimes with yells to “burn the witches.” The intent was to destroy and scare off the forces of evil, which would allow the area to become fertile.

“The fire in consuming them destroyed the powers hostile to man, purified the air, and allowed man and beast and vegetation to thrive and become fertile.” The circumambulating the fields with blazing branches carried the virtue to areas a considerable distance from the bonfire. “ “Primitive Beliefs in the North-East of Scotland,” by Joseph McKenzie McPherson (1929)

It would work in a way, too. The ash would fertilize the soil, helping to make it healthier for the coming growing season.

Other

Another significant ceremony, as showing the adoration of nature, was the combat between winter and summer which took place on May-day (Laa-boaldyn); the latter, which was represented by a young girl, decorated with leaves, being victorious, and thus typifying the victory of Nature’s reproductive power. The Folk-Lore of the Isle of Man by A. W. Moore[1891]

"On the night preceding it, i.e. Beltane eve, witches were awake, and went about as hares, to take their produce (toradh), milk, butter, and cheese, from the cows. People who believed in their existence were as earnest to counteract their machinations. Tar was put behind the ears of the cattle, and at the root of the tail; the animals were sprinkled with urine to keep them from fighting; the house was hung with rowan-tree, etc., etc. By having a churning past and a cheese made (muidhe ’s mulchag) before sunrise, the Fairies were kept away from the farm for the rest of the year. If any came to ask for rennet (deasgainn), it should not on any account be given to them. It would be used for taking the substance out of the giver’s own dairy produce.When the day arrived, it was necessary, whatever the state of the weather, though people sank ankle deep in snow, or (as the Gaelic idiom has it), though snow came over the shoes, to get the cattle away to the summer pastures among the hills (àiridh)." Witchcraft & Second Sight in The Highlands and Islands of Scotland

John Duncan’s “Riders of the Sidhe” (1911) “The artist here represents the fairy folk “setting forth on a Beltane eve in a kind of ritualistic procession, carrying symbols of their faith and power, and their good pleasure dowering mortals with spiritual gifts.” E.A. Taylor; Art. Some Pictures by John Duncan in The Studio, Vol. 80 (1930)

[mysticsparklewings]

Obscutober 2024 Day 23: Sylvan 🌲

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Sylvan (adj.)

consisting of or associated with woods; wooded

pleasantly rural or pastoral

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I think this one turned out pretty cute, especially since I don’t normally draw trees that often and didn’t really know what I was doing. 🙌

What’s *not* cute is how late I got started on it, now leading me to post in a rush. 😅

Click the "Keep Reading" and we'll talk a bit more about my general thoughts/process. ✨

⭐️ Like My Art and Want to see more of it? Here's All My Links! ⭐️

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For the second time this month: Now circling back to do this description properly, after speed-running to go ahead and just get it posted without one. 🫠

But unlike Day 19, today's supreme delay in getting started wasn't rooted in distraction, but rather a mixture of some IRL things demanding my attention (nothing serious that you Sparklers need to worry about, otherwise I'd elaborate), and good ol' procrastination. 😅

I think instead of over-hyping the concept like I did with Day 8, I stumped [ha] myself by..."under-hyping"? Whatever word/phrase I'm looking for that would mean "expecting it to be difficult, in a bad way."

"Sylvan" made the list because I like the word itself—It reminds me of Sylveon from Pokémon, one of my favorites. And even though the definition has nothing to do with such things, the word puts images of Tinkerbell-esque fairies in my head, which is a very pleasant experience. [And now you know where the teeny-tiny butterflies came from. 😆

Why exactly then I was dreading working on this mandala so much when I was reminded it was the next one up, even I still don't really understand. 🤔

And I'd love to sit here and say that once I actually got started that I was worried for nothing, but it wouldn't be entirely true. Granted, it wasn't nearly as bad as my subconcious was insisting it would be, but it definitely wasn't what I would call easy, either.

For starters: It was weighing on me that I didn't want to re-hash too much of things I'd done on Day 10 or Day 19, and in hindsight having all three of those words on the same prompt list was probably not the best idea. 😅 I don't think it's as bad as some same-y/too similar words I've spotted on other prompt lists before, but if I had thought it out further when I was putting the list together, I probably would've forced myself to choose between "Sylvan" and "Rampike," and then go for some other non-tree-related word to fill the space. [Feuillemort most likely would've gotten to stay either way, though; It's easily my favorite word of the three.]

Then there's also the matter that I've been learning the hard way with these mandalas—And again with Day 19 in particular—that I'm not very good at "stacking" and overlapping motifs; My brain much prefers to keep them clean and separate, especially with the more doodle-y ones. But to really get the forest-y look I wanted, I had do at least a little bit of that here.

What I did do turned out nice, I think. I'm particularly pleased that I thought to include a little tree stump as that stage. It felts a bit unexpected, and I think it kind of ironically does more to paint this as more of a forest picture and less of just a tree one, if that makes any sense. Plus it kinda saved me some trouble because the one other idea I had to fill those smaller spaces with drawing tiny stand-ins for flowers, and that would've taken much longer to get something I was happy with.

To that end, I did my level best to make the various tree "types" included look different from each other, but there was a limit to how much patience I had to try and figure out exactly how to do that, as was as I didn't do too much experimenting because I did get a late start and therefore did not have a ton of time in case said experimenting didn't pan out. Still, some experimenting was had.

The first couple of trees were okay because they were first and could be very stereotypical in nature, with some swirly bits for good space-filling measure. The third and fourth were more difficult. [Take a wild guess which one was the fourth design since it had the roughest time. 🙃] At one point I tried a kind of Bonsai-inspired thing, but I couldn't get the leaves into a form I was happy with, and without that, the more Bonsai-looking trees seemed horribly out of place next to the others.

So that's how we ended up with that odd-looking thing with the swirl brands that might look vaguely butterfly-ish. Since I was having trouble translating a more "realistic" tree design into the piece, I just made something up! 😆

After all that, I knew the coloring phase had it's work cut out to try and top everything off in a satisfying way. I don't think this one is as reliant on the colors to bring everything together as Day 21—And in fact I don't think "bring together" would be the best description of what it's doing anyway—but I think it is helping "sell" the forest idea a lot more than if there was no color.

I did make some effort to not make the palette too much like Day 8, Day 12 or Day 17, though. It was a little tempting to make it intentionally more like Day 8 and it definitely still came out bearing a passing resemblance, but my instinct was to keep them more separate and stuck by that. And I stand by that decision now as the right one.

As you Sparklers might have guessed, this is in fact another one where I think if I'd had more time to think through what I was doing and experiment, it may have come out better. But At least I am still decently happy with what I did get out of it; I did actually really like the center with the trunks a lot—a weird feeling since it's mostly a tan-brown halo—and there's nothing I feel is expressly "wrong" with the rest of it. It's just maybe missing a little extra "oomf" I just wasn't able to give it today.

I'm hoping tomorrow's will be a little bit of a different story based on the prompt—if I haven't misread the list again, it'll be another of the ones I've been looking forward to—but there's only one way to find out, and nothing is guaranteed!

See you Sparklers then; Hopefully early enough in the evening I can actually post the art with the description and not have to come back and do it later for a third time. 😅 👋

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See the Prompt List

Artwork © me, MysticSparklewings

Obscutober Concept Inspired by nikolas_tower

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⭐️ Like My Art and Want to see more of it? Here's All My Links! ⭐️

[herald-of-aurene]

Tagged by @mystery-salad ! Tagging anyone who wishes to do it too!

-- B A S I C S

Name: Athinri of Twilight

Nicknames: Thin, Petal (Trahearne & Caithe)

Age: Unborn at Fighting the Nightmare, 12 currently

Birthday: sometime in 1325 (Dec 13)

Race: Sylvari

Gender: Female (She/her)

Orientation: Asexual, Panromantic

Profession: General of the Pact, Magister of the Durmond Priory, Tailor in Cragstead

-- P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Magenta

Eyes: pink

Skin: grey with pink pattern

Tattoos/Scars: blade and blood scar/marking from Wynne's death, and arrow/burn scar under marking

-- F A M I L Y

Family: Pale tree (mother)

Siblings: none

Grandparents: Mordremoth

In-laws and others: Braham (Husband/mate, alive), Eir (mother in-law, deceased), Borje the Sun Chaser (father in-law, deceased) Unnamed Charr son (Future Adopted son), unnamed norn daughter, (future adopted daughter).

Pets: Orchid (Sylvan Hound)

-- S K I L L S

Abilities: Mesmer, apprentice thief, self taught virtuoso, extremely skilled at teleportation and portals

Hobbies: tailoring, reading, gardening, and dancing

-- T R A I T S

Most positive trait: friendly, quick to befriend, trusting, compassionate, protective

Most negative trait: doormat, naive,

-- L I K E S

Colors: purple, pink

Smells: fire, smoke, cooking, smell of air in the woods

Textures: anything fluffy, Braham's scruff, Orchid's coat, petals.

Drinks: water, milkshakes

-- O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: no

Drinks: sometimes (usually when she's celebrating or drinking at home with Braham)

Drugs: no

Been arrested: no

[jennycalendar]

❄️🌧️

all of these will be coming from my future bg3 fic <3

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

One of the tieflings was looking at Marigold with an expression of such open condescension that it bothered even Shadowheart. Marigold, however, seemed either blissfully oblivious or determinedly indifferent; with Marigold, it was often hard to tell which of the two it was. “Our safety hinges on your ability to fight an entire goblin camp?” he repeated.

“Well, I have friends!” said Marigold, gesturing behind her. “Shadowheart, Gale, Astarion, and—where did everyone else go?”

“I believe Lae’zel is over there interrogating a tiefling,” said Shadowheart, examining her nails. The more trouble Lae’zel caused, the sooner Marigold would lose her patience with the gith.

“Oh, that’s—um—” Marigold winced. “I’m sure Wyll has that well in hand?”

“Why am I in the group that isn’t interrogating a tiefling?” said Astarion, and immediately hurried over to join Wyll and Lae’zel.

“By the hells,” said Marigold under her breath.

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

The word for o’si in Common was mother. Sofie grew up with both languages and a few other ones besides. Her o’su was a book collector, which was hard to do when you all lived in the woods, which said a lot about how much he loved to read. He taught her Common and Elvish and some Dwarvish and passable Orc and a bit of Infernal and a tiny bit of Sylvan. Next to none of it stuck, because she was very little and she didn’t have anyone to practice with when she started living in the bakery, but she spoke in shy, halting Common with Mari, and soon enough Common felt like home.

Sofie’s o’si had been sharp in a way that Mari wasn’t, but still ever so funny and sweet and soft. She’d called Sofie xilo, which in Common was petal, because Sofie was one little piece of their big family flower. Except every time Sofie tried to think about her o’si, she saw it right behind her eyes: her o’si lying in that big red horrible pool on the road, cut up and staring. And every time Sofie thought about Mari, she thought about how if she’d asked Mari to come up and help her with her cloak, Mari would be here, and they wouldn’t be in the dark looking for some other thing that Sofie wouldn’t ever be able to unsee.

[4th-make-quail]

lo, Gilli templates be upon thee!

transcription below the cut!

Page 1 Appearance A short half-wood elf, Gilli is on the chubby side. The fae touch on his life shows in his black-green left eye which shines like green fire in the darkness, and also the tone of his skin, which is distinctively green underneath, like fresh bark lifted away from its tree trunk. Favoured Equipment Key of the Ancients Pale Oak Sharpened Snare Cuirass Gloves of Dexterity Ring of Mind-Shielding

Favoured Spells Barkskin Symbiotic Entity Wildshape (cat) Faithwarden’s Vines Moonbeam

Page 2 History Gilliphae was born to an elven father and a human mother - his mother was on her way through Glimmerwood when she went into labour and ended up giving birth in a copse of trees. She bled out shortly afterwards, after having a particularly hard birth, but Gilliphae’s crying awoke the curiosity of the copse’s resident elder dryads, Juniper and Sage. They had never seen a baby before, and they decided to keep him out of pity and curiosity both.

He grew up speaking Sylvan, and with a family of other dryads who acted as a large circle of aunties - Juniper and Sage being the closest, followed by Briar, Laurel and Tansy. He learned the Druidic language alongside studying to be a druid, with a smattering of Common as well, but since he never intended to leave Glimmerwood, he didn’t study Common with much enthusiasm, so he speaks it poorly and with an accent, though he can read it better.

Gilli trained as a druid of the Land circle under the wood elven tutor and occasional lover Miramaer Elmcloud. Upon travelling to the Underdark, he decided to follow a long-held fascination and made the change to become a druid of the Spores circle, with encouragement from Blurg and Omeluum, with whom he felt a kinship that in one life, kindles deeper into a mutual attraction and then relationship. Personality & Relationships Gilli is a calm, peaceable and endlessly curious man, who’s felt ill at ease since being plucked from Glimmerwood, where he intended to live out his dryad-touched life. He loves books and tales, and fell in love with Gale the first time they shared inspiration together, with Halsin swift to follow. Has a tendency to hide within his Barkskin as a maladaptive coping mechanism to deal with the endless noise and people of the world outside his beloved woods.

[namig42]

Lazlow returns with another chapter of his story! I will ride out this hyperfixation until I finish a project, so help me god. Anyways, please enjoy!

Lazlow (Ch. 4)

< Previous Chapter Next Chapter >

Read it on Ao3

Summary: This is the story Lazlow and his life before being abducted by the nautiloid.

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The next few days went the same way. When the mistress wasn’t busy at work or resting in her coach, she would request Lazlow’s presence to play her music, then have him attend to her other desires. Each time Lazlow returned to the consort coach, he could feel the resentment from everyone inside the car. Well, at least everyone besides Sylvan. Sylvan would smile when Lazlow returned and was even kind enough to offer him some snacks or sweets that he grabbed for himself whenever the caravan stopped at a new town. Lazlow relished those brief little moments, smiling brightly whenever Sylvan showed him that wonderful kindness of his.

After a week traveling through the Underdark, the caravan finally made its way towards its first surface town. The line of cars had just crossed the threshold of the Underdark and the surface not too long ago, and Lazlow couldn’t help but excitedly wait for the caravan to come to a full stop. He sat on his bunk quietly, the excitement brimming from his entire body like a radiant aura. He had heard so many tales of the surface during his youth, and now he could finally see the mystical place for himself. Not even his sisters could boast about something so exciting.

The mistress hadn’t requested any company for this leg of the trip, so all six of her consorts sat restlessly in the car, waiting for something to change. It was odd to have everyone gathered in one place. Lazlow couldn’t help but glance around and wonder what everyone did during their personal time, especially since he was seldom around to see it. Sylvan was in the bunk above Lazlow’s head resting quietly. Damien and Dugan sat across from one another at the front of the car complaining about their last trip to the surface and sharing in a story that only they seemed to understand the humor in. The fourth mysterious gentleman that Lazlow still didn’t know what to call lounged in his bunk with a book. Lazlow tried to look at the title, but the man’s delicate hands obscured the text on the cover. Kasbin was sitting in his own bunk up above and staring intently at something on his bed. His eyes were focused and fixated on something in front of him, but Lazlow couldn’t see what it was. He found it odd how still the wood elf sat and wondered what Kasbin could’ve possibly been looking at. His eyes reminded Lazlow of a fox watching a rabbit from the shadows, remaining stiff and observant while skulking about until finally pouncing at its target in one swift, succinct motion.

Eventually, after a few hours of giddy anticipation, the coach came to a halt. Lazlow’s head perked up at the sudden stillness, but it was Kasbin who was the first to leap out of his bunk and run out the door. Lazlow had never seen someone move so quickly. Kasbin moved like a blur, rushing out of the coach and standing in the early morning sun. Lazlow was the next to rush out, pausing in the door frame right behind Kasbin and observing the man he almost collided with. The wood elf was looking up into the tall trees just outside the door and was frozen in place. Lazlow peeked around Kasbin’s head and saw the wood elf’s wide eyes and a hint of a smile on his strange lips. He was an odd creature, indeed, but he wasn’t from the Underdark. This was his home once upon a time, and he seemed happy to see it again. Lazlow could understand the sentiment in that.

Lazlow carefully side stepped around Kasbin, careful not to interrupt his moment, then gazed for the first time upon the surface sky for himself. He was astounded by all the colors above and around him. There was so much green and brown in the foliage surrounding the caravan and so many blue and yellow hues filling the sky above. Lazlow had never seen the sky or the sun before. He had only heard stories of the way they changed throughout each day and the stories of the weather up on the surface. It was a breathtaking sight, especially the white clouds that languidly drifted across the horizon and caught the light of the sun. Lazlow wondered why the clouds hovered where they did and not lower to the earth.

“First time on the surface?” Sylvan asked, stepping out of the coach as well. His arm bumped Kasbin’s back and shook the wood elf out of his trance. Kasbin glared at Sylvan’s back as the tall man passed him without so much as an “excuse me.” With a huff, Kasbin leapt up onto the coach and crawled along the roof until he found a spot to sit. From his perch up high, he continued to glare down at Sylvan, but Sylvan didn’t seem to notice him at all.

“Yes…” Lazlow responded, a bit baffled at Kasbin’s acrobatic display and still stunned from the beauty around him.

“It’s pretty neat, I’ve gotta say. The town's up here though are where things get real fun. Nothing like back home.”

“Is it true that there are all sorts of creatures? Like goblins and humans and orcs?”

“That and more,” Sylvan said. He put an arm around Lazlow’s shoulders and turned to the treeline facing them. “Maybe when we get to a settlement and we’re both free, we can sneak off for a little fun. What d’ya say?”

Lazlow had already been taken aback by the arm around his shoulders, but the idea of going off together and exploring with Sylvan? It left him giddier than even the thought of the sun. He beamed up at his handsome friend and excitedly said, “yes! I’d love to!”

Sylvan snickered at Lazlow’s excitement. “Good, then I’ll look forward to it as well.” Sylvan placed a small kiss on Lazlow’s forehead before casually making his way back into the coach. Lazlow was frozen, unsure of what just happened. It was a small gesture, barely anything, but why did it leave such a wave of excitement coursing through him? Lazlow gingerly put his fingers to his forehead, afraid of pressing too hard and taking that tingling sensation away. Gods, he couldn’t wait to get to a town. All he could do now was pray that they would have a chance to sneak off together soon.

The caravan stopped for an hour before everyone crawled back inside and the coaches began to move forward again. Before leaving though, that same old servant came and summoned Lazlow to the mistress’s car once more. Lazlow was becoming accustomed to the hateful stares in the front of the car and was learning how to treat them as normal now. He grabbed his violin case and quickly dashed out of the coach, then made his way over to the mistress’s car.

When he walked in today, Lazlow started off as usual. He provided some ambient music while the mistress worked, but something was different about her this time. After only thirty minutes or so of work, the mistress moved to the bed and laid down on her plush pillows with an exhausted groan. She did not gesture for Lazlow to follow or even glance at him as she crossed the room. Unsure of what was happening, Lazlow kept playing and waited for her to give him the order to stop.

She seemed especially tired today, groaning again as she rolled her head to the side to speak. “Play something to soothe my eyes, Lazlow.”

“Yes, mistress.” Lazlow said, playing something soft and lingering for her. He had been momentarily caught off guard when he heard his name fall from the mistress’s lips, but didn’t stop long to process the thought before starting his performance. She hadn’t used his name once since Lazlow joined her harem, and honestly, he was a bit surprised that she knew his name at all. There was something a bit reassuring about hearing it from her. Something… personable.

After only a minute or so, the mistress sighed loudly over his gentle song. “Gods, I hate the surface. The sun always pains me when we arrive.”

Lazlow had heard of drow with sun sensitivity. It made sense, considering they spent their entire lives usually in the dark. He continued to play for her, letting melodies from drow folk songs slip into his performance to hopefully comfort the mistress slightly.

“I don’t mind the nights, but still, the air here always has the lingering taste of light to it. It’s abhorrent.” The mistress Santra continued to complain.

She laid there for about an hour while Lazlow soothed her aching head, and eventually, she managed to sit up and regain her composure.

“Thank you, Lazlow.”

“O-of course, mistress,” he said with a deep bow. Lazlow was surprised to hear gratitude from his mistress and was unsure what the proper response was.

The mistress looked over his bowed form for a moment and seemed contemplative. Lazlow was curious what could possibly be running through her mind and was too afraid to move. Instead, he stood still and silent, waiting for something to change.

After a long moment of tense silence, the mistress Santra stood up from the bed and moved to her desk. “We should be coming up on our next stop in just a few hours. For now, lie down.”

Lazlow hesitantly stood back up and placed his violin in its case. “Yes, mistress.” He began to remove his top out of habit, but Santra held up her hand to stop him. “Don’t bother. My head is still swimming. I must attend to some work still, then I will join you.”

“Yes, mistress,” Lazlow said, unsure of what to expect if not for the rough treatment he had become accustomed to over the last two weeks. She took a seat at her desk and held her head in her hands. After a heavy groan, the mistress picked up her pen and went to work. Lazlow didn’t know what to do, so he lied down as instructed and watched his mistress at work. It was difficult to relax even though the bed was much softer than his cot in the consort coach. He stared at the back of her head, nervous for what would come later when she did join him.

The mistress wasn’t necessarily cruel in her actions. She was just… rough. Intense. There were times where she had a tender touch in between the harsh moments and even seemed affectionate, like a master with a prized pet, but Lazlow was unsure of what went on in the woman’s head. He was so used to the cruel antics of his sisters that he couldn’t tell if this offer of relaxation was some new form of cruelty or if she actually held some kindness or softness in that dark heart of hers.

After an hour of sitting in silence, listening only to a pen scribble on parchment and staring intently at the back of her head, his mistress finally stood up again. “Ugh…” she groaned, holding her head once more and swaying to the bed. Lazlow lifted himself up a bit, unsure of what he should do now. When she made it across the room, she pushed Lazlow back to make room for herself and flipped him around. As she crawled into the covers, her arms moved to wrap around Lazlow’s neck and torso, and her legs intertwined with his. She pressed her chest against Lazlow’s back and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

Once she was settled, Lazlow felt like he was just here to be a large stuffed animal. He felt her breath tickle his neck as she groaned again. “My head…” she whined, her grip tightening around his torso. Lazlow was at a loss. He was frozen, unsure if there was something he should do, or if he should just stay still like a big pillow. This was not an interaction he understood. He was used to intense sensations, not something so soft and tranquil. Everything he had been prepared for when it came to becoming a consort involved pain and degradation, but this wasn’t any of that. He couldn’t tell if it was better or worse, honestly. The vice grip that held him on the bed, the soft cushion of her small chest pressing into his back, her thick legs squeezing around his pelvis. Maybe if she wasn’t squeezing him to death, this could manage to be pleasant, but Lazlow didn’t know. He felt his heart pounding, scared that this could turn into something worse at any moment.

It never did though. They laid like that for what felt like days, but eventually, the coach stopped with a harsh jerk. “Dammit… we’re here,” she groaned as she released her grip on Lazlow. He was too afraid to move and show how relieved he was to be out of her grasp. Mistress Santra sat at the edge of the bed and steadied herself. With her head hung low, she managed to mumble. “You’re excused.”

“Right,” Lazlow said, scurrying to his feet and bowing to her. “Thank you, mistress.”

Lazlow quickly grabbed his things and scurried out of the coach. When he was back outside, Lazlow couldn’t help but pause and look up. The sky was still orange, but it was different now. The sun was on the opposite side of the sky, and the pale yellows were replaced with vibrant oranges and reds. The clouds were completely different from the last time he saw them as well. Fascinating…

As Lazlow walked back to the consort coach, he looked past the mistress’s car and saw a whole town just behind it bustling with noise and firelight. He froze for a moment, taking in the sight, then remembered Sylvan’s offer. Maybe when we get to a settlement and we’re both free, we can sneak off for a little fun. What d’ya say?

They had just arrived, so there was bound to be a bit of time before someone would come looking for them. Lazlow smiled as he ran to the consort coach. He burst inside and ignored the frustrated glares aimed at him from the two chatty men at the front of the car. He ran to his bunk and saw Sylvan resting again on the top one.

“Sylvan,” Lazlow whispered excitedly. He gently shook Sylvan’s shoulder and roused him from his trance.

“Hmm…?” He grumbled groggily. He rolled over and saw Lazlow’s grinning face.

“We’re in a town!” Lazlow said. “Let’s go sneak off!”

It took him a moment to wake up properly, but Sylvan looked at Lazlow’s eagerness and giggled. “That sounds like fun. Sure, let’s go.”

[eddieredmayneargentinablog]

Happy Poetry Day!

The Waste Land , T.S. Eliot (1888-1965): II. A Game of Chess read by Eddie Redmayne and Felicity Jones for The Poetry Hour in 2012.

    The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,

Glowed on the marble, where the glass

Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines

From which a golden Cupidon peeped out

(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)

Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra

Reflecting light upon the table as

The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,

From satin cases poured in rich profusion;

In vials of ivory and coloured glass

Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,

Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused

And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air

That freshened from the window, these ascended

In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,

Flung their smoke into the laquearia,

Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.

Huge sea-wood fed with copper

Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,

In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.

Above the antique mantel was displayed

As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene

The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king

So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale

Filled all the desert with inviolable voice

And still she cried, and still the world pursues,

“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.

And other withered stumps of time

Were told upon the walls; staring forms

Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.

Footsteps shuffled on the stair,

Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair

Spread out in fiery points

Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.

    Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.

      What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?

    I never know what you are thinking. Think.”

    I think we are in rats’ alley

Where the dead men lost their bones.

“What is that noise?”

     The wind under the door.

“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”

           Nothing again nothing.

           “Do You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember Nothing?”

 I remember

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”

But that Shakespeherian Rag —

It’s so elegant

So intelligent

“What shall I do now? What shall I do?

I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street

With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?

What shall we ever do?”

           The hot water at ten.

And if it rains, a closed car at four.

And we shall play a game of chess,

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said —

I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.

He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you

To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.

You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,

He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.

And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,

He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,

And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.

Others can pick and choose if you can’t.

But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.

You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.

(And her only thirty-one.)

I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,

It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.

(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)

The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.

You are a proper fool, I said.

Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,

What you get married for if you don’t want children?

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,

And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot —

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.

Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night,

     good night".

Source: The Poetry Hour

[cagemasterfantasy]

Druid (Circle of the Shepherd)

Druids of the Circle of the Shepherd commune with the spirits of nature, especially the spirits of beasts and the fey, and call to those spirits for aid. These druids recognize that all living things play a role in the natural world, yet they focus on protecting animals and fey creatures that have difficulty defending themselves. Shepherds, as they are known, see such creatures as their charges. They ward off monsters that threaten them, rebuke hunters who kill more prey than necessary, and prevent civilization from encroaching on rare animal habitats and on sites sacred to the fey.

Many of these druids are happiest far from cities and towns, content to spend their days in the company of animals and the fey creatures of the wilds. Members of this circle become adventurers to oppose forces that threaten their charges or to seek knowledge and power that will help them safeguard their charges better. Wherever these druids go, the spirits of the wilderness are with them.

Speech of the Woods: At level 2, you gain the ability to converse with beasts and many fey.

You learn to speak, read, and write Sylvan. In addition, beasts can understand your speech, and you gain the ability to decipher their noises and motions. Most beasts lack the intelligence to convey or understand sophisticated concepts, but a friendly beast could relay what it has seen or heard in the recent past. This ability doesn’t grant you any special friendship with beasts, though you can combine this ability with gifts to curry favor with them as you would with any nonplayer character.

Spirit Totem: Starting at level 2, you gain the ability to call forth nature spirits and use them to influence the world around you.

As a bonus action, you can magically summon an incorporeal spirit to a point you can see within 60 feet of you. The spirit creates an aura in a 30-foot radius around that point. It counts as neither a creature nor an object, though it has the spectral appearance of the creature it represents. As a bonus action, you can move the spirit up to 60 feet to a point you can see.

The spirit persists for 1 minute. Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a short or long rest.

The effect of the spirit’s aura depends on the type of spirit you summon from the options below.

Bear Spirit: The bear spirit grants you and your allies its might and endurance. Each creature of your choice in the aura when the spirit appears gains temporary hit points equal to 5 + your druid level. In addition, you and your allies gain advantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws while in the aura.

Hawk Spirit: The hawk spirit is a consummate hunter, aiding you and your allies with its keen sight. When a creature makes an attack roll against a target in the spirit’s aura, you can use your reaction to grant advantage to that attack roll. In addition, you and your allies have advantage on Perception checks while in the aura.

Unicorn Spirit: The unicorn spirit lends its protection to those nearby. You and your allies gain advantage on all ability checks made to detect creatures in the spirit’s aura. In addition, if you cast a spell using a spell slot that restores hit points to any creature inside or outside the aura, each creature of your choice in the aura also regains hit points equal to your druid level.

Mighty Summoner: At level 6, beasts and fey that you conjure are more resilient than normal. Any beast or fey summoned or created by a spell that you cast gains two benefits:

The creature appears with more hit points than normal: 2 extra hp per Hit Die it has.

The damage from its natural weapons is considered magical for the purpose of overcoming immunity and resistance to nonmagical attacks and damage.

Guardian Spirit: Beginning at level 10, your Spirit Totem safeguards the beasts and fey that you call forth with your magic. When a beast or fey that you summoned or created with a spell ends its turn in your Spirit Totem aura, that creature regains a number of hit points equal to half your druid level.

Faithful Summons: Starting at level 14, the nature spirits you commune with protect you when you are the most defenseless. If you are reduced to 0 hit points or are incapacitated against your will, you can immediately gain the benefits of the spell Conjure Animals as if it were cast with a 9th-level spell slot. It summons four beasts of your choice that are challenge rating 2 or lower. The conjured beasts appear within 20 feet of you. If they receive no commands from you, they protect you from harm and attack your foes. The spell lasts for 1 hour, requiring no concentration, or until you dismiss it (no action required).

Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a long rest.

Source: Xanathar's Guide to Everything

[ollypopwrites]

BG3FicFeb Day 1 (SFW) Prompt: What was Tav doing when they were abducted?

Rating: T

Warnings: brief and non-detailed mention of sex. Language (because I can’t not swear I guess lol).

Summary:

A sailor sat across from her, maybe human maybe half-elf, in rapt attention as she performed her spell. The sensations came through to her, an onslaught of possibilities and paths. She parsed through them, letting them pass and flow by her. The reality was that she could only see so far, and not much she ever saw was set in stone. But sailors were superstitious, and he wanted any kind of omen for his upcoming journey.

Notes: a brief introduction to my Tav: Isra - half-drow and half-tiefling who is mostly druid (circle of the moon was not moon focused enough for me so I ran with it) and just a tad bit of a wizard (I wanted the divination subclass) ! I’ll probably do a small profile on her eventually.

The sun had been beating down on her head all day, and with gratitude she looked up to see the sky darkening and the moon beginning to make its presence known. However uncomfortable she had been, the market by the docks was where she always had her best sales. Isra would be leaving Baldur’s Gate the next day, and had she wanted to do a last push of readings and maybe sell some warding charms. Anything to lighten her pack, and add weight to her coin purse for the journey back to the woods. The season was changing, her parents and the others in their circle would need to start garnering supplies as early as possible.

Circe, however, loved the sunlight, all day it had glinted off of her chromatic scales, a beautiful shimmer as she basked in its heat. Isra found her more cat-like than snake in that state, seemingly napping on the blanket in which she laid out her trinkets. She was meant to be somewhat of a deterrent for theft, ready to snap at any fingers that may have tried to run off with unpaid for goods. The lazing creature hardly came off as threatening currently, but Isra did not have the heart to rouse her.

A sailor sat across from her, maybe human maybe half-elf, in rapt attention as she performed her spell. The sensations came through to her, an onslaught of possibilities and paths, she parsed through them, letting them pass and flow. The reality was that she could only see so far, and nothing was set in stone. But sailors were superstitious, and he wanted any kind of omen for his upcoming journey. What she did know was that either he had already decided to, or would be encouraged to visit a brothel just after this. Bodies writhed together, indigo skin against sun-browned hands, a bite, a gasp – 

“Your journey will be long, do you travel with a lover?”

“Haven’t got none,” he replied.

“Perhaps sate your lusts before you set off. Clear the mind.” Isra’s eyebrows raised. She took no issue encouraging some business to a brothel, many throughout Faerûn had let her practice in their halls when pushing some new exotic act. 

The man nodded his head. Eyes narrowed in thought. 

“Unfortunately, spells can only see so far for so much gold,” Isra’s tone was straightforward, somewhat dry, as she reached for the tarot cards at her side. “Perhaps I can tune into the cards for you. Get a glimpse further?” 

Her opportunity for an upsell evaporated quickly, as a loud thrum vibrated beneath them. The loudness of the city was becoming alarming rather than a buzzing in the background, and the rising moon’s light was beginning to blot out. Isra looked up and saw it, what it was she wasn’t sure, but it didn’t look good. A giant shadow against the deep blue sky, heading swiftly towards the city. 

She hissed in sylvan to Circe who was no longer napping, alert and concerned, the snake slithered up her sleeve. Warm scales against her flesh wrapping around her neck before the sensation turned to metal as the snake transfigured to nothing more than a draping necklace. Isra tucked her cards into her pocket, and in a panic grabbed whatever she could off of her blanket. Time was running short, she would have to cut her losses and run for it. 

The sailor from before had ran for it, lost to a sea of running bodies. Before she could follow his example, a body slammed into hers, knocking her over. There was no time for a glimpse of who bumped into her as she lifted herself up and started for a run. She got all of two steps before everything disappeared, the sounds of the terrified screams of Baldur’s Gate cut off abruptly.