#ritual specialist

[qipsir]

I promise you the most accurate readings and divined messages you'll ever get come from the people who truly don't care about formalities.

Like I'm sitting here shirtless eating applesauce from the jar I bought like 10 minutes ago with kohl eyeliner, my hair half like a bedhead, and if you were to ask me for a reading right now I probably wouldn't even grab my cards (one deck of which is right next to me) I'd just blink, say a sentence that nothing could've prepared you to face, and then go back to eating applesauce

[spoondrifts]

i hate when i'm reading an otherwise well-crafted academic article and then the author drops "judeo-christian". okay well thank you for letting me know that you understand nothing about judaism and all the points you're about to make have no foundation in jewish values

[lucemaria]

Guarda "Se qualcosa tra voi si è spezzato, contattami❤️" su YouTube

[a-teardrop-of-the-sun]

y'all know i am SPINNING THOSE FIBERS and MAKING THAT CLOTH

man if we were in early Neolithic you KNOW I'd be out there making clay vessels. what's your prehistoric role in society

[creature-wizard]

Hey folks, if you're looking for a generalized term to use in place of "shaman," a number of academic folks have been using the term "ritual specialist."

(If anyone needs an explanation why you ought to use a different term, one is over here.)

[lovelaceisntdead]

.

[writers-potion]

Writing Weapons (7): Unarmed Combat (Hand-to-Hand Fighting)

In a fight situation with no weapons, characters will stick with the kind of fighting they're familiar with: grappling or striking.

Grappling

Martial arts: judo, wrestling aikido, jiu jitsu, sambo, lucha libre, glima

Suitable for: entertaining fight scenes

Aim in lethal fight: chock or strangle

Words to use: grapple, wrestle, twist, pull, pin, roll, throw, toss, squeeze, press, chock, strangle

Holding the opponents down to the floor is called a "pin"

Striking

Martial arts: boxing, kick-boxing, karate, muay thai, capoeira, taekwondo

Suitable for: entertaining or gritty fights

Aim in lethal fight: blow to head

Words to use: strike, hit, box, kick, punch, chop, slap, kick, chop, hammer, pound

Mixing Martial Arts

Some martial arts combine grappling and striking techniques.

A skilled martial artist is probably an expert in eiher striking or grappling, but also has basic skills in the other.

Easier to stick with one group for one character - the hero's friends can complement each other if they have different martial art backgronds!

Investing a Fantasy Martial Art

Spiritual Elements connected to the general magic/religious system of your story world.

Mental Focus that allows the martial artist to amplify the effectiveness of attacks.

Small rituals, like bowing to the guru before and after every fight to obtain some kind of "blessing"

Restricted admission to pretigious martial arts academies

Specialist techniques that require combining physical action with spells, or a symbolic act that activates magic.

Exams: students must prove themselves through a series of tough (life threatening) tests to obtain access to the most important lessens of the practice.

Special garmetns

Secret codes between members

Winning Factors

Skill - the most important. A skilled fighter can take on someone who is much larger than them, but unskilled.

Size

Ruthlessness

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[qipsir]

no idea if this is a vent or not but

please, please tell me I am not the only metaphysical practitioner who is bored out of my mind over the concept of human life.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who looks at things humans do, maybe even something that people say makes life worth living, and your response is "isn't that counterproductive?" or "why do that when you can do something so much more interesting?"

Like it-

It can't just be me, right?

I can't be the only one grappling with my own exhaustion for something, anything interest to do on a metaphysical level

[fae-papercuts]

Originally inspired as a response to some posts by @banrionceallach and @marlynnofmany. Polished it up and decided it would make a good start to my lil story blog. Enjoy!

Not Our Usual Passengers

“What do you mean, there’s something wrong with the engines?” Captain El'ek'tak said incredulously. “You’re not an engineer, none of you humans are. You’re not even crew, you’re passengers! How dare you claim there’s something wrong with my vessel!?”

The outraged captain puffed up her air sacks, the feathery amphibian inflating as she stared down the trio of humans who had been travelling with them for the past week. They were not what she had come to expect when transporting humans, not one bit.

They were quiet, for a start. One of them didn’t even speak at all, just made an occasional tuneless humming sound when they were concentrating particularly hard on something. That was usually accompanied by a rocking back and forth that seemed remarkably similar to the Ke'tek autonomic stimulation ritual of focus.

Humans weren’t supposed to do that, were they?

The second of the human party cleared their throat softly - something they always did before speaking, which was quite a rare occurrence. The captain appreciated this, actually. So many humans she had transported interrupted her, or spoke over each other. The disrespect was really quite remarkable - but these humans waited patiently for others to finish, and this particular human’s throat-clearing was used similarly to the way El'ek'tak’s own species rustled their dorsal feathers to indicate their intent to communicate.

“Captain, apologies if we caused any offence,” at this the non-speaking human’s eyes widened in surprise, and they shook their head, clearly agreeing in a profoundly apologetic manner, without words. Their apologetic companion went on, “We can’t be certain there’s something wrong with the ship, we just thought you should know that it sounds wrong.”

The first human spoke again, nodding as they added to their companion’s statement.

“Yes, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to assert certainty when I should have stated a suspicion,” they gave a short smile, then their face quickly fell back into a neutral expression. The captain was a little taken aback by this, as that particular human seemed to very rarely express facially - quite the opposite to what she was used to with humans. It was a little disconcerting, but mostly because she had put a lot of effort into learning about human non-verbal communication.

She blinked, and stared at the three for a long moment. “It sounds wrong?” she repeated back, surprised. She had heard of some particularly sensitive species being able to diagnose certain engine issues from the vibrational frequencies, but usually this required extremely highly trained specialists.

The silent human nodded, and raised a handheld device, tapping something onto its screen for a few moments. The other two humans turned and waited patiently as their friend worked, and the Captain watched with a raised eyebrow (this wasn’t a natural Girurian expression. She had learnt it from her human studies, enjoyed how it felt, and how it could communicate so many things at once).

The human held up the device, and it emitted a gentle, slightly robotic tone, “Engine pitch changed one point five hours ago. Rising quarter octave every seven minutes. Hurt very bad fifty five minutes ago.”

Captain El'ek'tak stared for a moment at the human, her feathers rustling vaguely, as she tried to figure out a response. She looked between all three of them. “You can hear the engines, from your quarters half way across the ship?” she asked incredulously.

The most vocal of the humans spoke, while the throat-clearer nodded and the non-verbal one tapped on their device. “Oh yes,” they said, “we’re all sensitive to sensory input, at least for humans. Not a patch on Alirians sound sensitivity, or Hynoids electromagnetic spectral range, or the scent capabilities of the Teraxids - did you know they can smell a single smoke particulate in a standard atmospheric volume of 500 cubic metres?”

The human with the device gently put a hand on the speaker’s shoulder and smiled softly at their friend - who turned bright red and looked at the floor. “Sorry, xenobiological sensory discrepancies is my special interest right now,” they said, before taking a slight step back. It was at this point that the captain noticed that they were fiddling with a strange cube in their left hand, suddenly speeding up how they manipulated the piece of plastic, changing its configuration rapidly. It was a fascinating display of manual dexterity, and considered asking about it for a moment.

“Engine makes the whole ship vibrate. Can hear it any place,” spoke the little device, for it’s human, interrupting the captain's curiosity. The human’s head rose, making eye contact with El'ek'tak. The human’s gaze was intense - more so than even the other humans the captain had encountered. Eye contact was so rarely a positive thing, across a wide variety of species, but with humans she had met so far it had always been considered important. So the captain had learned to look them in the eyes. It had been a surprise when this group avoided it so much, rarely meeting her gaze for more than a split second. Early in the voyage, they had politely explained that all of them found it hard, and that they hoped she wouldn’t take offence. Frankly, El'ek'tak had been a little relieved, as all the eye contact with others of the odd little species had been quite exhausting.

But right now, the diminutive human who never spoke and could apparently tell when engines changed pitch, was looking into her eyes, and the Captain could practically feel this little traveller’s distress. It made her ankle feathers itch, and she was surprised to find herself understanding quite so much from just a look.

The captain nodded, and broke eye contact. The human looked down again, reverting back to their usual slightly-bowed stance.

“Let me check with engineering,” she said, and turned to the panel by her side, tapping a screen to raise the engine-room. Slipping comfortably into her own language, she greeted the pair of engineering crew on duty, and asked them about the state of the engines, particularly frequency or oscillation-related issues. She gave them the time to check on it, waiting silently, still as a statue, while the humans figeted, or rocked gently side to side. Their motion made her a little uncomfortable, but she had learnt that with these three, continuous movement wasn’t a sign of impatience, as it has been for many previous human passengers.

After a few minutes, the engineers returned to the screen, and exchanged a few explanatory sentences with the Captain, before tapping fingers to their foreheads respectfully. The Captain returned the gesture, and ended the call.

El'ek'tak turned back to the humans, to see that the non-verbal one was already tapping on their device. She couldn’t help but rustle her feathers, wanting to reassure the humans, but not wanting to interrupt this overt preparation for communication. The throat-clearing human raised a finger briefly, a clear request for a moment of time, and the Captain found herself surprised again at how wide a variety of perception these humans could contain within a single species.

“Pitch dropping rapidly. Expect normal range in four minutes. Thank you, captain,” said the device, as the human beamed a broad smile at her for just a brief moment.

El'ek'tak’s feathers rustled briskly, and then she replied. “Yes, that’s alright, thank you for bringing it to our attention,” she said, pausing to gather her wits. “The interphasic array had become slightly misaligned. It wouldn’t have been detected by our sensors for another hour, and then we would have had to pause the engines to manually readjust it. Catching it this early, we could simply vary the input parameters to re-compensate, and bring it back into synchronisation,” she explained, relaying the gratitude of her engineering crew.

The most vocal human flapped their hands back and forth vigorously, grinning with delight. “Oh, thank goodness, I’m so glad we could help, and that the engine noise will at least be consistent. We were worried it would be horrible for the whole trip, and we’d have to reconfigure our ear protection all the time! Genuinely helping out the engineers is so great!”

The captain’s eyes bulged with happiness, quite unable to resist the infectious joy of the gleeful human. “I am glad your trip will be more comfortable, and I will pass on how helpful you were to Central, once we reach our destination.”

The throat-clearing human, who had so consistently noticed the captain’s non-verbal communication, smiled too. They actually chuckled a little as they said, “More neurodiversity stuff to go in The Guide To Interstellar Travel With Humans,” seeming pleasantly amused.

El'ek'tak winced in embarrassment. She had already sent in three amendments to the guide regarding natural variations in human cognitive capabilities and behavioural norms since they had left Alpha Centauri, the two weeks of travel offering surprise after surprise from these passengers. But as far as she knew, the guide wasn’t acknowledged by humans - she didn’t even know the species was aware of the now rather sizeable volume of collected knowledge. It certainly wasn’t available in any human languages that she knew of - after all, what would be the point?

The human’s chuckle became gentler, and the other vocal one of the group raised a hand in an extremely close mimic of the Girurian comforting gesture - as close as could be with the wrong number of digits, anyway. The Captain couldn’t help but relax, the effort the human put into the gesture only adding to the positive impact. They flashed another brief smile as their companion explained, “Don’t worry captain. Most of us don’t bother with it, but I find it fascinating. It has been wonderful seeing the updates since our trip began. Please, the more human neurodivergency is documented, the easier space travel can be for people like us.”

There were a few more polite exchanges, during which the captain learned  that the strange device she had notice was an 'infinity cube,' which was apparently a kind of 'fidget toy.' Then the humans left her ready room; a quiet, somewhat surreal collection of beings who had rather put a lie to the notion that humans were uniformly capable of being brash and difficult to deal with.

But they certainly didn’t do anything to diminish the captain’s view of humanity as a species eternally full of surprises.

[expertvashikaranspecialist]

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[peoplecallmelucifer]

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!" Clair screamed at her captain

"Crewmen you have not just assulted an injured coworker, you apreare to have threatened others into defending you. This matrer is over and done!" The captain responded coldly

" Assu- I WAS PREFIRMING CPR!"

" I do not care what kind of ritual that is, injured crewmembers are to be handled by the hospital staff alone and are most definetly not to be punched in the chest!"

"I DID NOT PUNCH HIM"

"Whitnesses say otherwise"

Clair took a big breath and sighed before co tinuing more calmly "Have you talked to Max yet? Or a human medical specialist for that matter?"

" Well you put our chief medical officer out of comission but don't worry, we will take the victims statement when they wake up, untill further notice you will be confined to-"

At that moment the doors burst open with several humans piling up on alien guards while a tall skinny man, who appeared to barely be standing hurried in the best he could.

"MAX!" Clair shouted in surprise "What are you doing here you should be resting!"

"And let you get fired for this, no way"

"ORDER" the captain roared! "What in the blazes is going on here? Crewman, I'll have you know that even if you were a victim of this attack I will not allow vigilante justice on my-"

"Oh can it you cretin!" Max said a she sat down

"Excuse me?" Was all the captain managed to say in response before Max continued

" You're excused. Now if you had half a brain you would have looked up what CPR was before aresting the person eho saved my fucking life! Some cretin left live wires uncovered and as I leaned agais the wrong wall I got Enough electricity to light up half of New York for a day running trough my body! What Clair did were chest compressions! She restarted my heart!"

"B-but she is not a trianed medical servicemen! And you had bruizes all over your body, not just electrical burns!" The captain stammered

" Yeah muscles spasm when they get shocked. I got flunged into the wall because of it, hence the bruises. And all human crewmates know basic CPR. It is required from any spacer to know first aid for at least 4 species." Max said

"I- I see. I ... apologize for my rash judgement crewmen."

" Am I not being arrested? " Clair asked

"No, you are not" the captin said with a look of shame

"Then I accept the apology ... now please help me drag this diva back to thw med bay before I actually knock him out" Clair said looking at Max

" Hey carefull Clair, maybe captain never heard of hyperbole"

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 4 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: All hail severely traumatized Reader, Part 2 (or is it 3? 4??)

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

On quiet evenings, after closing the shop, you’d sit in the dim light with your butterflies swirling around you, thinking of him. Jinwoo had grown older in these passing years, but he was still in the shadow of what was yet to come, the trials he’d face, the burdens he’d bear. You’d send a butterfly to always be with him, only occasionally checking in on him, respecting his boundaries even if he didn’t know it.

Just for a moment—a quick glance into his world was enough.

When Jinwoo first registered as a hunter, you had already braced yourself for this moment. The person you had watched in glimpses through the pages, from, the safety of your domain, and later from the shadows of Seoul, was finally stepping into a life that would soon be fraught with peril. You were determined to help him, even if only in ways that were subtle, hidden beneath the surface of his everyday struggles.

As long as the system did not forbid you, you would help him however you could. And perhaps, every small act was your rebellion.

---

It started with the hospital bills. You remembered the pitiful amount of money Jinwoo would scrape together after risking his life in dungeons, just to keep his mother’s medical care afloat. You couldn’t bear to watch it unfold like it did in the story, not when you had the means to help.

You watched him in the hallway of the hospital one day, standing before the reception desk with his head bowed, his fingers trembling as he pulled out a thin stack of cash.

“I-I’m sorry, Miss. This is all the money I can scrape by…” His voice was low, filled with both hope and shame.

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, was holding back a sigh when suddenly, her computer pinged with a notification. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Good news, Hunter Sung!” she exclaimed, her tone brightening. “With this amount, plus some unexpected anonymous donations, yours and your mother’s hospital bills are covered for the time being.”

“What?” Jinwoo blinked, visibly stunned. “But I didn’t—”

“Oh! And I’m glad to inform you that your mother’s complexion has improved slightly in the last few weeks.” She smiled warmly. “The specialists believe it’s a good sign.”

Jinwoo’s mouth opened and closed, clearly bewildered. “Huh? No, wait, that’s… that’s great, but—”

In your hidden corner outside the hospital, you giggled softly to yourself, covering your mouth with a hand as you watched through your butterfly’s eyes. The tiny creature perched delicately on the windowsill, relaying every flicker of emotion on Jinwoo’s face back to you.

Perched on your shoulder was another small butterfly, its tiny wings beating quietly, the faint residual glow of it, the one you’d tasked with easing his mother’s pain whenever it could, flickered beside your ear.

“I hope you can feel a bit more at ease, Jinwoo,” you whispered to yourself. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

---

Later that week, you left another package at his door. It had become a small ritual of sorts—every now and then, you’d make a meal for him and his sister. The recipes were simple, but you took care with each one, carefully wrapping each dish to keep it warm.

“Brother, did you order takeout again?” Jinah’s voice carried through the door as she opened it, her face lighting up at the sight of the package. “Huh? No, I didn’t.”

“Whoa! This smells more delicious than the last one.” Jinah’s eyes sparkled as she inspected the food, excitement clear in her voice.

You smiled, pleased. This time, you’d made a little extra, something from your own world—a dish that you remembered from home, a comfort food you’d grown up with. For some reason, it felt right to share it with them, hoping it would bring a small sense of peace to Jinwoo’s chaotic life.

Jinwoo stepped closer, frowning slightly as he eyed the package. “Jinah, don’t open it! What if this is someone else’s—”

“Hmm? Jinwoo! Look at this!” Jinah held up the small card you’d tucked inside, her grin widening as she noticed the handwriting: For strength and courage. Keep going.

Jinwoo blinked, his eyes lingering on the card, and you felt your heart tighten. You’d also left something else this time—a pair of twin daggers, crafted with care, designed to suit his grip and his unique fighting style. You’d poured a bit of your magic into the blades, imbuing them with a subtle strength you hoped would last him longer in dungeons.

Carefully crafted, the daggers gleamed in the dim light, their handles a smooth black etched with faint traces of silver. It was subtle, but you’d placed a small sigil of protection on each blade—a silent promise to keep him safe, even from afar.

Jinah’s gaze darted between the food and the daggers, her expression one of confusion and awe. “Who keeps sending this stuff, Jinwoo? Are they some kind of guardian angel?”

Jinwoo shook his head, still staring at the daggers. “I… don’t know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at the card again, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that had no answer.

From where you watched, you pressed your fingers to your lips, hoping they’d never figure it out. The anonymity felt like a shield, keeping you from the vulnerability of facing him directly. It allowed you to be there for him without the risk of him ever seeing the scars that haunted you—the scars of the battles you hadn’t been able to fight for him.

---

But there were moments when you could not simply leave gifts behind. Moments where the stakes were far too high, and you found yourself breaking the rules you had set for yourself. One of those times was during a particularly dangerous raid where Jinwoo had been injured, caught off-guard by a sudden ambush.

You found him bleeding out in an abandoned corner of the dungeon, unconscious and pale, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Panic surged through you as you cloaked the area with your butterflies’ illusion magic, hiding you both from the other hunters scrambling to escape.

“Hey… Jinwoo…” Your voice trembled as you knelt beside him, your hands hovering uncertainly over his torn shirt, slick with blood. You could barely see through the tears blurring your vision. “Stay with me.”

You pressed your hands to his wound, feeling the warmth of his blood soak into your fingers. Healing him was a delicate balance; you had to hold back most of your power, keeping it just within the boundaries that the system would tolerate The warmth of your power seeped into his skin, mending the torn muscle and stitching the wounds closed.

“You’re going to be okay…” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He grimaced slightly, even in his unconscious state, as though still fighting an invisible battle. His brows were furrowed, and you could see the remnants of pain etched into his expression.

Unable to stop yourself, you began to hum softly—a lullaby from your original world, a song you’d heard countless times. The sound filled the silence around you, mingling with the gentle flutter of your butterflies as they circled, their wings casting soft shadows over the two of you. You weren’t even sure if he could hear it, but you hoped it would bring some comfort. His pained expression gradually softened, his breathing steadying, his body growing still as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

“You will be okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the fluttering wings of your butterflies. Leaning forward, you pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his forehead, ignoring the taste of sweat and blood on your lips. “I promise.”

You stayed there for as long as you dared, your butterflies encircling you both in a protective sphere. But eventually, the system's warnings began to flash, and you were forced to retreat. The moment you pulled back, you could feel the invisible barrier forcing you away, like a cruel reminder of your place. You were not meant to interfere directly, not in the way you so desperately wished.

As you vanished into the shadows, Jinwoo stirred, his eyelids fluttering open sleepily. A faint scent of flowers lingering in the air.

The soft glow of a single butterfly disappearing into the darkness.

---

You knew it was only a matter of time before Jinwoo’s sharp instincts would catch on. He had always been sharp, even before his strength grew. He had a way of noticing things, piecing together the small details others missed. Sometimes you wondered if he already suspected there was someone watching over him—a nameless guardian who left behind no trace.

For his sake, you hoped he wouldn’t. There was too much you couldn’t tell him, too many secrets that weighed heavy on your heart. You couldn’t let him find you. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. The scars left behind from your previous failures were still too fresh, too deep. You couldn't face him—not with the knowledge of everything you failed to prevent.

A red butterfly fluttered back to your shoulder, nestling close as if sensing your inner turmoil. You reached up, brushing a gentle finger over its wings, a silent promise.

For now, it was enough to watch him from afar, to slip into his life like a fleeting shadow, offering what little comfort and aid you could. For Sung Jinwoo, the lonely hero you once admired on the pages of a story, being beside him—even unseen, even in secret—was more than enough.

Because loving him like this, in silence and secrecy, was the only way you knew how.

-----

The dungeon gate loomed ominously in front of you, shrouded in an aura of terror. Every hunter that passed by gave it a wary glance, a sense of unease clinging to their skin. But for you, standing alone on the empty, desolate street outside the gate, it was more than just unease.

You knew what was happening on the other side of that barrier.

You knew exactly why Sung Jinwoo had gone in there, why he was fighting against forces he had no chance against, and, worse, you knew how the story was supposed to go.

Even if you wanted to save him, you couldn’t.

As you paced in the shadows, a biting frustration gnawed at you, tugging on your every nerve. The system had raised another invisible barrier around the gate, one specifically designed to keep you out. This was a repeat, you knew, yet you had tried pushing against it just like the first time, pounding your fists in desperation, hoping that it would somehow let you through if only you pleaded enough.

But like every single time, the system never relented. The message that flashed in front of your eyes had been clear, cold, and unyielding:

[Warning: You cannot interfere with the designated player’s progression.]

So all you could do was wait. Hours passed, the world seeming to stretch unbearably as you lingered on the edge, senses on high alert. Finally, when the gate shimmered and disappeared, you bolted forward, cloaking yourself with an illusory skill the moment you felt the barrier lift.

Without hesitation, you sprinted into the dungeon.

The first sight of the bloodstained stone walls, the broken weapons and armor littered across the ground, nearly brought bile to your throat. And at the center of it all, lying on the cold stone altar, was Jinwoo, blood pooling beneath him. His once gentle features were twisted with pain, his usually alert eyes closed, his breathing almost nonexistent.

Your heart pounded in your chest, raw terror surging through you as you stumbled forward, nearly dropping to your knees beside him. Your hands trembled as you summoned your healing power, a soft glow flickering to life in your palms as you placed them gently over his wounds.

“Jinwoo…” The name slipped from your lips, an agonized whisper.

It took every ounce of willpower not to let your emotions take control. You wanted nothing more than to pour every bit of your strength into him, to erase the pain and blood, to make him whole again. But something held you back—a quiet, persistent instinct that reminded you of your own limitations here. This was a pivotal moment in his story, the beginning of everything that was to come. If you pushed too far, you knew you’d be punished for it in ways you couldn’t predict.

Instead, you focused on his face, gently wiping away the blood from his brow as you healed the worst of his injuries. The faintest hint of warmth returned to his skin, his breathing evening out, and you felt a trickle of relief flow through you.

“You’ll be okay… Just a bit longer,” you murmured, hoping your words would somehow reach him, even in the unconsciousness of his slumber.

---

Hours later, you watched silently from afar as Jinwoo was admitted to the hospital. Nurses and doctors bustled around him, wheeling him through corridors and hooking him up to machines to monitor his vitals. You should have felt some sense of peace, of reassurance, knowing he was in good hands, but instead, a strange emptiness gnawed at you.

As soon as the doctors left his side, you sent one of your butterflies to hover just above him, invisible to any onlookers. Through its eyes, you watched him sleep, his face pale yet calm. If only he could see the world through your eyes, how much you wanted to protect him from every shadow and danger.

For days, you visited Jinwoo in the hospital, bringing supplies when the nurses weren’t looking, leaving small offerings—potions, enchanted items, all hidden from sight. You spent countless hours just sitting nearby, willing his pain away.

But after those days of endless vigil, your system did something you hadn’t expected: it simply… vanished. No messages, no reminders, no missions or updates. It was as if it had been swept away, a silent farewell. But somehow, you couldn’t believe that was all there was to it. The system you knew—the one that felt almost…alive—would have left something, some kind of parting message. But there was nothing.

Yet even as the ache in your heart grew sharper, you took comfort in the fact that your powers, and the tiny butterfly summons, your children, remained at your side. The system’s absence didn’t change the duty you felt in your heart.

---

Of course, the only thing the system left behind was the now near-permanent barrier.

You felt your own helplessness all over again when Jinwoo entered the penalty zone, struggling to survive against waves of merciless monsters. All you could do was watch, silently cheering him on as he fought his way through it, determination blazing in his eyes. You knew this was the beginning, the spark that would ignite his growth. But still, it was agonizing to stand by, unable to intervene, unable to help.

Days later, when he took on his first solo hunt in an instant dungeon, you lingered nearby. Observing every movement, every struggle, every victory. You smiled with pride as each time he struck down a monster.

And then there came the time he met Yoo Jinho. The memory of that dungeon still sent a chill down your spine. Jinwoo and Jinho, left for dead by Hwang Dongsok and his squad, and then watching the two of them nearly get slaughtered had you gripping the edges of your seat. You could feel admiration as much as your heart shatter as Jinwoo stood over the bodies, his gaze cold and unyielding. The spark of his innocence was dimming, replaced by a hardened resolve.

“Jinwoo…” You whispered his name as you watched him, clutching your chest as a wave of sadness washed over you. He was changing, evolving, becoming stronger, but at what cost? Each time Jinwoo took a life or fought in the dungeons, you felt your heart ache for him. He was growing stronger, yes, but he was also losing pieces of himself along the way.

You mourned for the innocence he left behind. Yet, you knew this was necessary. You reminded yourself of this, over and over.

---

Every time he stepped into danger, every time he took a blow, you felt the echo of his pain in your own chest. You watched him fight Kerberos, your hands clenched into fists as he took hit after hit, barely surviving. And yet, through it all, he pushed forward, as relentless as ever, Each injury he sustained sent you pacing around the Gardens, your butterflies fluttering around you, trying in vain to calm your worry.

Even when Jinwoo joined Jinho to clear various C-rank gates, you remained his unseen guardian, watching from afar with a bittersweet smile. He was getting stronger. He was closer to becoming the hero you admired—no, loved—from the pages of your old world.

---

And then, the job change quest arrived.

You watched with anticipation as he ventured into the ancient halls, his eyes sharp, his movements cautious. The moment he met Igris, you had been waiting for this moment for what felt like lifetimes. You watched him take on Igris with every ounce of power he possessed, watching with bated breath as Jinwoo faced the trials set before him.

And finally, the words you had been waiting for echoed through the temple, sending shivers down your spine.

“Arise.”

The power resonated in his voice, a command filled with strength and authority. You nearly squealed, couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across your face as you watched the first shadow rise at his command.

Watching him gain his Shadow Extraction skill felt like watching a dream come to life. This was the moment you had waited for, the turning point that would set Jinwoo on the path to becoming the Shadow Monarch. He had come so far, and you had seen every step of his journey unfold before your eyes.

As you gazed at him from afar, smile still tugging at your lips. This, you thought, is enough.

Being able to watch him grow, to see him become the hero you admired, was enough. Just knowing that he was okay—that he was stronger than ever—was all you needed.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [010/10/2024] - Goodbye

[uwmspeccoll]

Chinese Ceremonial Papers

Many hundreds of varieties of prayer sheets used to be produced by specialist ma-chang printers all over China. Many of the limited range made today are the cheapest offset-litho jobs on the cheapest machine-made papers, but the designs still imitate the original woodblock prints.

Modern Taiwanese sheets of cash, made from recycled paper, sold very cheaply by weight in Taipei.

Mock money and other ceremonial papers for religious ceremonies will be gathered in "bowls" of crude papers, usually made of a mixture of rice-straw and bamboo fibers.

The simplest form of mock money is made traditionally with thin layers of tinfoil affixed to the center of a small piece of bamboo paper, although in contemporary production the cheapest grades of machine-made paper will be used instead, and in Taiwan and Malaysia metallic inks may be used instead of tinfoil.

Here's a piece of mock money in traditional colors with auspicious designs, and tinfoil brushed over with a dye from the pagoda tree to make it resemble gold.

Contemporary Taiwanese ceremonial paper.

Another variety of gold mock money, with inscriptions and symbols for good fortune building up the design, usually still quite well printed from woodblocks on fairly good quality paper, but sometimes now mass-produced by offset lithography.

Contemporary ceremonial paper printed letterpress on a stout machine-made paper in Hong Kong. The yellow coloring might have been brushed on by hand, but otherwise production of these attractive sheets has been mechanized completely.

At the Feast of Hungry Ghosts many large sheets of paper with pictures of all the clothes one's ancestor could need are burned. Although images of the paraphernalia of modern life like cell phones and computers might be printed on these papers, the clothing is always of traditional style.

Red paper envelopes with good luck symbols have been used for many years to enclose gifts of money made at New Year. They may be found wherever any ceremonial papers are sold; today usually with elaborate and eye-catching gold-stamping.

Decorative Sunday

The examples shown here are original paper samples included in Roderick Cave's (1935-2019) two-part article on "Ceremonial Papers of the Chinese" published in Matrix 12 (Winter 1992, pp. 51-66) and Matrix 13 (Winter 1993, pp. 161-177), printed at the John and Rosalind Randle’s Whittington Press in Risbury, Herefordshire, England.

In these articles, Cave, a noted print historian, librarian, and educator, discusses the history, manufacturing, printing, distribution, and uses of Chinese ceremonial papers used in rituals, celebrations, and festivals associated with the gods and the ancestors.

Our copies of Matrix are a donation from our friend Jerry Buff.

View more posts on Chinese papers.

View other posts associated with Roderick Cave.

View more Decorative Sunday posts.

[writers-potion]

Writing Magicians

If you are drafting or deepening a magician character, consider these personality traits and common characteristics of magicians. Your magician doesn't have to be set in stone or have all of these traits.

Intelligent

Magic requires a critical, quick, analytical mind to practice and implement. Must be capable of making difficult decisions.

Good Memory

For memorizing spells, potions ingredient lists, rituals and anatomy of magical creatures.

Creative

Magicians need to adapt existing spells and rituals to the situation

Self-disciplined and focused

Casting a spell or conducting a ritual requires the magicians to have unwavering focus and self-control.

Patient

Magic takes time to practice, especially if it's not a talent that you're born with. You also need patience to calm your human sacrifices down and make those stupider than you understand what's going on.

Highly trained

Mere talent is not enough. Practice - and pain - makes perfect.

Specialist

Magicians will have a spell/an element/a potion they are exceptionally good at

Musical

Many forms of magic involve drumming or chanting, or even singing.

Spiritual

Many forms of magic are linked with religious practices or concepts. Your magician might be heralded as a spiritual saint, or hunted for being a heathen.

Prayers are often a part of magic rituals.

Studious

Magicians are always keen to learn more, expanding their skills range, acquiring news spells, understanding different forms of magic and exploring scientific subjects.

Many magicians will amass books, or sign up for every available online class.

Well-orgnized and Methodical

The best magicians always have information and ingredients at hand and know where to find them.

They prepare thoroughly before rituals and have Plan B,C,D ready

Introvert

Many magicians like quietude and solitude in which they can recharge to practice a new spell in peace.

However, some magicians love social gatherings, maybe even showing off their power.

Ethical

Magic gives a person power, and requires moral judgements to apply this power wisely. You magician protagonist will be ethically challenged, but pull through difficult decisions guided by his good heart.

You magician villains, of course, will fall due to their unethical practice of power.

Sharp Sense

Your magician is likely to have a goos sense of smell/sight/sound, so that they can tell poisons part and catch the exact note of the chant.

Descended from Magicians

Magic is often portrayed as a talent that is passed down generations. It can be of blood (you must have "magical blood", so to speak), or it can be a guarded family secret.

On the flip side, your hero can be the only one with magical talent in a family with no such powers.

Psychic

Although magical and psychic gifts are separate matters, the power of foresight is often considered a branch of magic.

If your hero is a psychic, make sure it has limitations and consequences!

Day Job

Few magicians practice openly. Even if the magician earns money from her practice, she'd want to disguise her identity and pretend to work a more everyday job.

Many modern magicians work in the medical sector; other are employed in scientific, engineering or the arts field.

Pet

Magicians are known for thei close relationships with animals.

This can be a typical pet, or a mythical animal, or perhaps an incarnation of the devil, who knows?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[qipsir]

biggest pet peeve when talking about death

What they say: I'm okay with death. I've made my peace with it.

When they actually mean: I've accepted the fact that I'm going to die someday but I refuse to accept that anything I cherish will be gone before me.