#trinkets and troubadours

[flickeringflame216]

TRUE

dragon tea kettle. if you even care.

[redchippednails]

Fairytale

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I came up with a fairytale about this video because the dog kinda sounds like what fairytale dragons sound like.

So there was a very remote mountain town far far away not so long ago. This town had a mountain nearby and in that mountain there was a dragon. The dragon was pretty chill, she didn't mind the townspeople and got along pretty well with them. She was also pretty set in her ways too, being a couple centuries old, and liked to take a nap around 2pm every day, for just an hour or so. She'd wake up and make all these yawny, growly noises after her nap before going to have a drink in the river. The growls were pretty loud, just loud enough to be a bit intimidating when heard from the town, but the townsfolk were used to her routine. Other than the growling the dragon was a pretty good, quiet neighbor so really only the townsfolk were aware of her.

Now the townsfolk were in a bit of a jam. Income inequality was really rough and their trinket market had plummeted. The townsfolk were having a hard time making ends meet, but they got an idea. The asked the dragon if she wouldn't mind if they sent some princes her way, maybe give her a bit of a snack, and once the prince was dead they could raid the armor and sell it to pay for some food cuz you know plate armor was like a luxury yacht back then, ridiculous solve townsfolk hunger money. The dragon had sworn off pork for generally environmental reasons, so she had trepidations, but the townsfolk pleaded with her to let them spread the word there was a dragon in their midst and was eating the towns children, or they'd have to start selling natural resources and that would be really loud and disrupt the dragon's nap schedule. The dragon agreed, but on the condition they would let all the princes know the only way to slay the dragon was with a wooden sword of elm, so she would have a toothpick to use after eating the prince, as princes are quite stringy and fatty. The townsfolk agreed to these conditions, and started to spread word through peddlers and troubadours that there was a very angry dragon eating the children at 3pm every day, and would let out a mighty growl before consuming the poor innocents. Many princes came with their wooden swords to slay the dragon. The town made a good living in gold and silversmithing, and the dragon wrote her own long pork cookbook. Anyway we should tax the rich.

[theenchantedquillmagazine]

The Dawning of the Moonshadow Festival: A Symphony of Unity, Enchantment, and Revelry

In the twilight of the eve, when the sun's golden tendrils retreat beneath the horizon, the city of Aethercrest readies itself for the transcendent extravaganza that is the Moonshadow Festival. This annual event, a harmonious confluence of human, elven, and dwarven realms, commemorates the unity and collaboration that has flourished since the historic signing of the Tri-Realm Accord three centuries past.

The Moonshadow Festival owes its moniker to the extraordinary celestial alignment of our world's three resplendent moons. This rare occurrence, manifesting but once every ten years, casts an entrancing, iridescent shadow upon the land. To the inhabitants of Aethercrest, this breathtaking display signifies the synergy of the realms and the mystical energies that interweave their destinies.

As the festival unfolds, the pulsating heart of the city square metamorphoses into a dreamscape of light, color, and music. Banners and flags, representing the diverse cultures and species of our world, dance in the zephyr, their vibrant hues painting the sky. A symphony of a thousand instruments serenades the throngs of jubilant attendees, who find themselves entranced by the sheer ecstasy of the celebration. Storytellers regale wide-eyed listeners with tales of heroic deeds and ancient lore, while troubadours and minstrels compose ballads that will echo through the ages.

Nestled within the city square lies the sacred Moonshadow Grove, a hallowed sanctuary where emissaries from each realm convene to partake in a time-honored ritual. Under the ethereal gaze of the Moonshadow Priestess, an elven figure of boundless wisdom and grace, a human mage, a dwarven runesmith, and an elven mystic forge an alliance of arcane power. Together, they conjure a spellbinding spectacle, a magical tapestry that mirrors the celestial dance above. The culmination of their mystical communion manifests a temporary portal, a shimmering gateway through which the spirits of the three realms may offer guidance and insight to those who seek their wisdom.

As the moons ascend to their zenith, their spellbinding shadow cloaking the land, the city erupts in rapturous revelry. Fire dancers, their blazing trails spiraling through the night, captivate onlookers with their hypnotic choreography. Illusionists astound the mesmerized masses with phantasmagoric displays of wonder, their artistry defying the very boundaries of reality. Master artisans and craftsmen showcase their otherworldly creations, from delicate trinkets imbued with enchantments to breathtaking sculptures that seem to defy the laws of nature.

The air, infused with laughter, music, and the mouthwatering aroma of delicacies from every corner of our world, hums with an electric vitality. Culinary masters from distant lands entice the senses with exotic flavors and textures, each dish a testament to the artistry and cultural richness of their creators. For this enchanted night, the denizens of Aethercrest and beyond unite in sheer jubilation, basking in the splendor of their collective existence.

The Moonshadow Festival is more than a mere celebration of unity and magic; it is a poignant reminder of the vitality of cooperation, understanding, and reverence among our world's myriad cultures and species. As the first glimmers of dawn pierce the veil of enchantment and the festival draws to its inevitable close, a profound sense of gratitude and hope for the future envelops the heart, leaving an indelible mark upon the soul. In this symphony of unity, enchantment, and revelry, the Moonshadow Festival weaves its spell, casting a timeless enchantment over all who partake in its wonders.

For the young and young at heart, the festival presents an array of delightful diversions. Mischievous fairies dart among the revelers, bestowing blessings and playful jests in equal measure. The laughter of children rings out as they join hands with magical creatures, dancing around a maypole adorned with ribbons and flowers that seem to bloom in time with the music.

Scholars and philosophers from across the realms gather beneath the ancient boughs of the Moonshadow Grove, engaging in spirited debates and exchanging ideas that fuel the fires of progress and understanding. Their discourse, illuminated by the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, is a testament to the power of knowledge and the boundless curiosity of the mortal soul.

At the stroke of midnight, as the celestial spectacle reaches its breathtaking crescendo, the festival-goers gather in awe to witness the Moonshadow Procession. A breathtaking parade of fantastical beings from every corner of the realm, it is a moving tribute to the power of unity and the beauty of diversity. As the procession winds through the city streets, it leaves in its wake a trail of glittering stardust, the memories of an enchanted evening forever etched in the minds of all who bear witness.

The Moonshadow Festival, a celebration of unity, enchantment, and revelry, serves as a beacon of hope and a reminder that when we stand together, our world is a place of limitless wonder and possibility. As the first rays of dawn break the spell and the festival draws to its poignant close, hearts brim with gratitude for the bonds that unite us and the magic that permeates our shared existence. In the afterglow of this enchanted night, the dreams and aspirations of all who call our world home burn brighter, forging a path towards a future filled with unity, understanding, and boundless potential.

[flickeringflame216]

@bookdragon1811

Botanical Knives

Pocono Mountains Forge on Etsy

See our #Etsy or #Botanical tags

[dont-touch-the-phlebotinum]

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Hugs

Title: Flew Like A Moth To You

Relationship: Pre-slash Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: G

Content Warnings: None

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier reunite after the winter. Featuring Geralt being a dumbass, more pine than a timber yard, and Jaskier wearing one very fetching hat.

The thaw comes early this year. Geralt could stay a while longer, savour the time with his brothers and the quiet comfort he always finds in Kaer Morhen, but something tugs at him; an itch beneath his skin that won't leave him until he's back on the road. He takes a few contracts to tide him over on his journey, but he doesn't linger in any one place longer than he has to. His restlessness won't allow it.

And so he moves on, following the creeping arrival of buds in the meadows he passes through and new leaves on the trees as he heads south, the world coming back to life around him. The farther he travels, the more he feels the same blossoming sensation in his own chest.

Geralt didn't set out from Kaer Morhen with a specific destination in mind, yet he finds himself there regardless.

Oxenfurt is a riot of noise and colour after months spent in the brumal peace of the keep. All around there's music and conversation, market traders peddling gaudy trinkets and pungent spices and perfumes, the crush of citizens and visitors alike bedecked in bright, exquisite fabrics. Geralt used to avoid the city for this very reason.

These days he's learning to appreciate its charms.

With Roach fed and stabled, Geralt wanders the bustling streets in the direction of the university, its spires a towering beacon in the heart of the city. There's a tightness in his chest, growing with every step; anticipation and apprehension each struggling to win out over the other. He doesn't know how he's going to find Jaskier in the chaos of the city. Usually it's whisperings of nearby monsters, or townsfolk overheard singing too-familiar tales of the White Wolf, that draws them to one another after the winter -- Geralt's never had to actively seek Jaskier out before.

He doesn't know if Jaskier's even here. Jaskier wouldn't be expecting to see him for weeks yet, and even though he had told Geralt of his plans to remain in Oxenfurt throughout the winter, Geralt knows Jaskier well enough by now to know how easily his plans can change, cast aside in favour of his latest love affair or a sudden hunger for adventure.

Yet just as he's considering turning back for the city gates, Geralt's attention catches. Across the busy square the doors of a tavern swing open, and out spills a rambunctious group of what can only be troubadours; dressed in the same ostentatious and wildly impractical silks Jaskier insists upon, with a melodic quality to their animated conversation Geralt knows so well from a life on the road with Jaskier. He doesn't know how he could possibly spot Jaskier among them, or pick him out of any one of the crowds jostling all around him, for that matter -- yet there's something about the group that tugs at him, the same thing that's been calling to him all the way from Kaer Morhen.

His eyes land on Jaskier.

He stands at the centre of the group -- commanding attention as always -- gesturing emphatically as he regales them with some story or another, and Geralt watches him with a smile. Out in the world, harsh and desolate as it is, Jaskier so often stands out like a sore thumb, yet here it's as if the city has been built in his image, as loud and warm and bright as Jaskier himself. If Geralt had laid eyes on Jaskier in his element here years ago, he might have learnt to understand the man a good deal sooner.

Geralt's happy to stand and watch from a distance for a while longer, reticent to intrude on Jaskier's peace by reminding him of the ugliness that waits beyond Oxenfurt's walls. But after a moment Jaskier's gaze drifts in Geralt's direction and he stops short, eyes widening and a grin spreading across his face. Without a parting word to his cohorts, Jaskier's pushing through the crowd towards him.

He's paler than when Geralt last laid eyes on him, his cheeks less gaunt after months of feasting and drink to make up for the pitiful sustenance the cold autumn on the Path had offered, yet when he throws his arms around Geralt in a hug that almost knocks the wind out of him, his scent is the same as it's always been. Geralt has to fight the compulsion to bury his face in the crook of Jaskier's neck and breathe him in. If he allows himself to, he's not sure he'd be able to pull away again.

Geralt's hands linger awkwardly at his sides while Jaskier squeezes him tight and he debates whether or not he's brave enough to wrap his arms around Jaskier in return, as though doing so might reveal too much, lay Geralt bare in a way that would surely make Jaskier turn from him. The moment stretches on for an agonising length, yet before he can come to a decision Jaskier's pulling away. It's only then that Geralt's heart seems to beat again.

"I thought for an awful moment I had gone mad and begun hallucinating you." Jaskier looks up at him, eyes bright and shining in the pale, late winter sunlight. His smile is radiant enough to melt away the last of the cold in Geralt's chest. "But you are delightfully solid."

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the possibility you've gone mad," Geralt says with a grin as his eyes travel upwards to the hat perched jauntily atop Jaskier's head. He flicks at the ostrich feather dangling from it. "What the fuck is this thing?"

Jaskier blows at the feather to keep it from drifting into his face before staring back at Geralt as if there's nothing at all ridiculous about the way he looks. "I'll have you know they're highly in vogue this winter."

"If you insist."

"Come then," Jaskier says, linking his arm with Geralt's and leading them through the square. "Let me show you to my rooms while you tell me what brings you to Oxenfurt -- I'm sure you didn't come all this way only to insult my fashion sense."

"The pass has cleared already. Thought I'd head back out on the road." And came to ask you to join me, he doesn't say. And was desperate just to see you.

"And what would a life on the Path be without your trusty companion?" He says it with a playful nudge to Geralt's side, but still Geralt fears Jaskier has seen straight through him.

"Roach is my trusty companion," he says. "You're a nuisance."

"Yet you'd not be without me."

It's almost as if they've never parted, Jaskier chattering away while they stroll through the winding streets, the sound of his voice quickly erasing the memory of the months Geralt had gone without hearing it. Geralt has never heard of any of the people whose exploits Jaskier shares; doesn't understand why it's some great scandal that someone has been caught plagiarising old poetry, or claiming to hail from Toussaint when they had in fact been born in a village just south of the Pontar, but he enjoys hearing it all the same. He watches Jaskier talk as if all the stories he's been saving for Geralt are trying to be let loose at once, and he's unable to keep the smile from his face or the warm, contented feeling that builds in his chest from overwhelming him.

"And I suppose if I ask of your winter at Kaer Morhen," Jaskier says, "you'll grunt that it was fine, and that'll be the end of the conversation?"

"Perhaps."

"So how was it?"

"Fine."

Jaskier laughs, warm and melodious. "I'll get it out of you eventually," he vows.

They come to a stop outside a tall boarding house, and Jaskier leads him up one narrow staircase after the next until they reach his rooms at the very top of the house. They both have to stoop slightly to keep from grazing their heads on the low, slanted ceiling.

"It's a job making my way up here after a few drinks too many, let me tell you," Jaskier says as he unlocks the door. "Fortunately it turns out the staircase can make for a surprisingly comfortable bed in a pinch."

He pushes open the door and steps back to allow Geralt inside. It's a modest space, made smaller by the books and trinkets piled atop every surface, though it carries with it a deep sense of comfort that Geralt is sure goes beyond the fact that Jaskier's scent permeates the air. It reminds Geralt of his rooms in Kaer Morhen; not remarkable in any way, but home nonetheless.

He looks back to see Jaskier smiling at him again. "What is it?" Geralt says.

"Nothing. I'm just happy to see you."

Jaskier steps forward and engulfs Geralt in another warm hug, and this time Geralt allows himself to return it. He winds his arms around Jaskier's broad shoulders and holds him close, savouring the feel of him pressed to Geralt's chest.

"I've missed you," Jaskier says. There's something so open, so raw, about the simple admission that Geralt aches with it.

After a long moment they break apart, and those too-blue eyes find Geralt's again. Jaskier looks back at him almost like he's waiting for something. Geralt would panic that there's some social custom he's forgotten about if he didn't so often catch Jaskier studying him with the same expression, anticipation and something like hope glimmering in his eyes as he stares at Geralt. He licks his lips in a split-second movement that still manages to draw Geralt's attention, and in the bated silence that grows between them Geralt can't help but wonder what would happen if he leant forward and let his own brush against them.

Geralt swallows the urge. "I missed you too," he says instead.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// the poet. sugawara koushi //

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes:  The second installment of my mini-collection entitled “Soldier, Poet, and King” inspired by the song of the same name by The Oh Hellos, featuring my questionable poetry skills

Picture this,

A world in which

There was no fear

Where you and I

Could sing and strum

And have our fun

Without the threat

Of the King shouting,

“Off with their heads!”

The cheers of a small crowd were met with a hearty laugh and small words of thanks as coins were tossed into the troubadour’s cap.  His silver locks kept being tossed gently in the breeze, a near perfect physical representation of the ease with which he carried himself as he hopped down from the stone wall that had been used as the stage for his brief performance.  An easy smile was plastered on his face, a grin so wide that you were sure his cheeks were hurting, but no matter how long you watched him from the edge of the crowd, that smile never faded.  

You had heard about him, the way that his words never failed to draw a mass of people to listen to his tales, his poems, his songs.  He frequently told of his hopes and his dreams, wrote lyrics of his disapproval of the current kingdom affairs, and made his audience smile with beautifully framed words.  

He was every bit as charming as the words that danced off of that silver tongue of his.  He was swarmed by ladies and gentlemen alike, each looking to get to know the ethereal poet a little better, wishing to bestow their good graces upon him, showering him in trinkets of their affections, handkerchiefs, pins, small envelopes that enclosed the profession of their love.  Each gift and flirtatious word was met with a smile and a gentle, “Thank you, my sweet.”  

But, none of it mattered to him.  Those wide brown eyes had settled on the enchanting gaze of the hooded figure who always stood at the far edge of his audience, almost melting into the shadows, the troubadour was afraid that if he dared to look away, those twinkling eyes would disappear, never to return again.  You never approached him.  You only ever applauded at the end of his performance, disappearing as quickly as you had arrived.  

Come one, come all

To listen to my daunting tale

Of unrequited affection

Of a darling long gone.

Elegance and mystery

Shrouding over my love,

Eyes bright with passion

For another that is

Not I.

And just like always, the end of another performance had your form retreating away, tugging at the edges of your hood to make sure that it shrouded your identity.  Sugawara Koushi was left only to stare at the edge of your cloak billowing in the gentle summer breeze as you weaved your way through the crowds of the market.  No matter how high he stood on his toes or how wide he wished he could spread his wings, you were always so far away.  To speak to you once, to see that teasing smile that always danced on your lips whenever he uttered a line against the kingdom, to be able to kiss your hands.  They were all dreams that were yet to be fulfilled.

He was left to write endless poems and songs in hopes that you would understand, in hopes that you would see this as your sign to stay, even for a moment.  Your presence every week lit a new fire in his stomach, one that had been starting to grow dim as the time passed by.  It was like the gods had gifted him with a new outlook on the world and it had a bright light shining down on you, his brand new muse, drawing inspiration from each and every little thing about you.   He would write an entire epic just about the way your necklace caught the light from the sun and caused small rainbows to dance across your skin if you asked him to.  

If only he could see the way that blush crawled up your cheeks with each passing stanza, eyes shifting from his smiling face to the cobblestone pathway, only to return your attention to the sweet words spilling from his lips with each passing moment.  He had you clutching at your chest, feeling your heart pound and your head race as feelings overwhelmed you.  

You had heard rumors of a troubadour, an appearance unlike any other, who spilled words against your home, berating it, tearing it apart.  You couldn’t keep yourself away, you wanted to see it all for yourself.  And Sugawara failed to disappoint you.  He was witty and charismatic, his opinions voiced in a tone too sweet to be slaying such mighty dragons with nothing but a quill to aid him.  It was exciting, watching him have to cut his performances short at the sight of soldiers approaching, ready to take him into custody for spewing words of treason, but even if he was stressed, he never showed it.  His contagious smile never fell from his lips.  

What must it be like,

You ask,

To fall in love with a soul

Who has no eyes for you?

It is a feeling

Similar to that of

Hot coals grazing your skin.

It hurts and it continues to sting

For days and days until

It all goes away

And you are healed.

But then

You burn yourself

All over again.

And it hurts less

As you’re used to the pain

But the sting is still

A painful reminder

Of a love 

Unknown.

It was a burn that existed every single week as he watched you disappear without so much as a farewell, the sting carrying until he could sink his hand back into the hot coals all over again, never once complaining, because if it meant that he could fix his eyes on you for another week, he would do it over and over again.  He should’ve moved on by now, taken his tales to another city in the kingdom, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the capital with its shining castle walls rising towards the sky, the large open markets, and the girl in the cloak with amusing eyes. 

So, he stayed and for weeks upon weeks, he couldn’t find the desire to leave, not when you were there to watch each and every performance.  He kept wishing to see you around the market or in the pubs once evening hit, but no matter where he went or how hard he looked, there was never any sign of his muse.  

The kingdom has a princess, but she’s a princess with a secret, because each week she dons her cloak of midnight and sneaks out through the garden gates, checking over her shoulder in fear of being caught by the royal guards. She runs down the well-trodden path towards the city in hopes to hear the tales of the angelic troubadour with words of longing meant for her ears.  But, no matter how much she yearns to stay, yearns to melt into his touch as they finally greet each other for the first time, she dashes back to the castle as each performance comes to an end to rest her crown back on her head to take her place in royalty once again.  

These words of mine

Are tales of woe

As I long for the love

Of the one untold.

The cape of darkness

That adorns her form,

Shields her identity

From my eager stare.

But I yearn for the day

When at last

I am no longer, 

viewing fro-

“Arrest him!”

The words of troubadour were interrupted by the shuffling of guards and slow sheenk of swords being drawn from their scabbards.  Those kind, laughing eyes that you had watched for weeks were now run over by fear and panic, his silver hair bouncing back and forth as he wildly searched for any exit, but each side road was cut off by a royal guard, menacing glares on their faces as their eyes locked on their target.  Sugawara quickly hopped down from his makeshift stage, trying to weave through the growing crowd in an attempt to escape.  

The tip of the sword aimed at his chest as he emerged from the other side had him faltering back, eyes shifting for another means of exit.  But, the guards had started to form a small circle around him, grabbing his arms to keep him from running away.  

“You are under arrest for treason against the kingdom in the form of public speech going against His Majesty.”

“Wait!  Please, let me go!  I’ll leave the kingdom and never come back, just please don’t arrest me,” he pleaded, struggling against their strong grasp.  Sugawara could’ve babbled on in apologies and pleas of mercy for hours, but the tip of sword that had once been aimed at his heart was now pressed lightly against his pale neck, hard enough to get a point across, but not quite breaking skin.  The wide brown eyes that you always looked forward to seeing were now clenched tightly shut, a short whimper escaping his lips.  

“Traitors of the kingdom are not taken lightly,” the guard said, staring down at Sugawara.  

“Please, I beg you.  I-I’ll pay you! You can have all of my earnings.  Please, just let me go.”

He’s shoved roughly to the ground, the guards looming over him as one of them takes a pair of handcuffs from his belt to bind his wrists.

“Let him go!”   Heads of the crowd turned towards the new voice that escaped the figure shrouded in the cape of darkness as the hood came down.  “And that’s an order from your princess.”

The hush that fell over the crowd left an eerie feeling in the air as people fell to their knees to bow in your presence.  The guards wrestled Sugawara onto his knees to pay his respects to you as you approached the situation, your head held high, a certain darkness in your eyes that was new to the young poet.  

“Your highness, he’s committed acts of treason-”

“I told you to let him go.  Are you disobeying my orders?”

“No, ma’am,” the guard stuttered, bowing his head.  “You heard the princess, men.  Uncuff him.”

There was a jangle of metal as the cuffs were shifted off of Sugawara’s wrists, giving him an opportunity to try to ease the pain from the tight restraints, but he looked up at you in wonder, his muse finally being revealed to him.

The soft smile was a stark contrast from the steely expression on your face only moments prior, but you knelt down in front of him, rubbing small comforting circles on his wrists.  

He wanted to laugh, to be truthful.  Never in a thousand years would he have suspected that the young woman that he admired from afar would be the daughter of the man he had grown to loathe so much for all of the pain and destruction that had been caused to the people of the kingdom.  But, he just shook his head, a small puff of hair leaving his lips as he laughed in disbelief.  “You’re a princess.  I can’t believe that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with the princess.”  Your hands reached up to cup his cheeks, letting him push his face into your touch.  His beautiful eyes never left yours and that smile that had been engraved into your memory was now only for you.  “My name is Sugawara Koushi, your highness.  I may just be a travelling poet, but I have admired you for a long while now.  You caught my attention and I would like to thank you for lighting a fire within me and being my new muse.  If I could be so honored, I wish to keep writing to keep watching you smile for many years to come.  Even if I cannot be the one that you love, I will not leave this kingdom in hopes that, one day, you will see me in the same light that I see you.”

It was a sight really, watching the way his already wide eyes, grew even wider as his face was tilted towards yours and your lips melted over his, the way his body relaxed as if the weight of the entire kingdom had been lifted from his shoulders, lashes slowly fluttering closed as his own hands moved to meet yours.  Gentle smiles washed over the crowd of onlookers as the poet finally united with the lover of his tales and he had no more woes to share.

[recentanimenews]

The Faraway Paladin – 08 – Fellowship of the Sing

When Will saves the tiny halfling troubadour Robina “Bee” Goodfellow and her merchant companion An”Tonio” from a giant ape (simply by staring it down!), his traveling party suddenly doubles in size. They make a deal with Bee and Tonio to travel to the various villages on the way to Whitesails and make money together. Bee attracts customers with her song and lute play; Will heals the injured, and Tonio sells them stuff.

It works out pretty well, and to Will’s delight, Bee also happens to be a font of oral history, including the legends of Blood, Mary, and Gus. While not mentioned by name in Bee’s songs, the trio of are nevertheless still remembered fondly for their heroics. There are times early and late in the episode when we’re clearly just getting an infodump along with Will, but Bee at least makes it interesting by applying music to the stories.

Indeed, we’re transported back to when Blood, Mary, and Gus were human and took on a giant wyvern in order to save a beautiful half-elf girl from being sacrificed. The human boy who loved her gave every coin he could to pay them, which wasn’t nearly their going rate, but it didn’t matter. The two lovebirds are sent off to make something of themselves with a dagger and a bag of coins, and Gus tells them he’ll come to collect the debt, using his name as the password.

That half-elf woman is still alive, waiting at her home for Gus or his representative to come. It’s almost as if Will’s parents inadvertently laid out a path for him to walk, serving Gracefeel and spreading word of her grace to all he encounters. Tonio admits he finds Will an odd duck; someone who doesn’t seem capable of being sold anything in the classical sense.

Of course, as someone who considers his formidable powers not his own but only being borrowed from his goddess, Will doesn’t care about trinkets or riches, only friends, good times, and the revitalization of Gracefeel’s following. A bit port city like Whitesails should be a grate place to gain all of those things.

By: magicalchurlsukui

[abiteofnat]

GET READY TO BE STOCKING STUFFED...

Because tis the season for buying knick-knacks and treats a plenty for all your loved ones! It’s stressful enough to be a good friend, son/daughter, employee, etc., but then add in the holidays where at some point it’s expected there will be an awkward gift exchange? Not to mention it’s officially ONE MONTH UNTIL CHRISTMAS?? You need to get shopping baby! 

Which is why... *drum roll*, I’m pulling together a special list of $25-and-under stocking stuffers you can get at “foodie favorite” places so that you can pick up a little something for every single person on your list! Nothing is better than a unique, tasty gift that adds some flavor to the holiday spirit. I spent Black Friday serving the stressed masses and then online shopping from the comfort of my bed, and holy crap am I glad I can find the perfect little add-ons for the real big show-stopper gift at Peet’s. (This is in no way paid promotion from any of the places I’ll mention, I just genuinely love these products and think they make for excellent shopping. And, they all involve going to absolutely zero malls. BIG BONUS.)

So, what are some freakin’ awesome festive gifts? LET’S SEE! 

1. Peet’s Coffee 

Here’s the deal- while I will never ever get sick of the croissants we get in from Troubadour Bakery in the wee hours of the night, I don’t quite know how I would package an almond croissant up to store as a gift. Good thing we got a million and one new items in for the holidays! Growing up my mom always put a giant candy cane in our stockings along with a whole bunch of chocolate, and what’s Christmas morning without hot chocolate... so then when I saw these Ticket “Hot Chocolate On A Stick” cuties I nearly screamed. They are the perfect mixture of fun + delicious and bring a fresh pop of peppermint to some homemade hot chocolate so grab a couple for some stockings... and for yourself. We also have our Winter Solstice tea right now which smells of spices and orange peel, bringing warmth to your mug and tummy. It’s fragrant and a customer favorite so stock up! Our other limited edition tea is the Cocoa Matcha, made with cocoa powder and rich, creamy matcha that will make for a decadent dessert in drink form. If you’re more of a coffee person, pick up a pound of Holiday Blend to brew up while wrapping presents late into the night. With Sumatra, Ethiopian, and Guatemala San Sebastian beans mixed together it’s a strong chocolate-forward brew with a smooth finish. I freaking LOVE IT. 

Then there are the wooden coasters and various kinds of chocolate bark to assist your coffee drinking, and damn son the chocolate peppermint bark is to die for. Other honorable mentions: the chocolate-covered espresso beans, peppermint patties, and a thousand types of mugs and thermoses you can take a look at. COME ON IN AND BUY SOME TRINKETS.

2. The Spice House

HOLY MOLY is The Spice House a wonderland. If you’ve never been, there are two locations in Chicago- one in Evanston on Central Street and one in Old Town along Wells Street and they offer rows and rows of real, hand-mixed spices that smell too good to be true. From cinnamon to full on BBQ rubs they have sell-by-the-weight jars of sugars and herbs and there’s something really special about giving someone a total sensory experience as a gift. One of my friends got her dad a Mediterranean spice mix to fancy up his homemade hummus, and he absolutely loves it. My family lives on the Lake Shore Drive seasoning because it’s a mix of shallots, sea salt, and some other dried green stuff to mix with sour cream for a remarkably flavorful chip dip. Then there’s their curry powder which is crazy colorful and delicious, and don’t forget about the candied ginger that can be eaten alone or put on homemade gingerbread loaf!!! 

If you need suggestions feel free to ask me or any of the amazing employees, they’re happy to help you create the perfect gift box or put spices into a beautiful glass bottle to wrap up. Spice House y’all. 

3. Leonida’s 

I’ve blogged up and down about this place yet somehow the world still isn’t aware of how FUCKING LOVELY Leonida’s Chocolate Cafe is. From Belgium to NYC to Chicago this chocolatier has endless coffee, crepes, and dessert boxes to mix together for the over-indulgence you’ve been wanting. They offer chocolates by the pound, hot chocolate mixes, macarons in beautifully wrapped boxes, and marzipan. Oh, the marzipan. The marzipan shaped like fruit that tastes like heaven and is worth every penny (and they’re a lot of pennies). 

Go get some real Belgian chocolates for your gifts, your parties, and TO EAT BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT, DAMNIT! Plus they always do a great job of decorating for the holidays and it’s an instant transportation to a European cafe. They do the holidays right over there. 

4. Southport Grocery 

Southport Grocery has the best fresh jars of everything that you could tie a ribbon around and please the hell outta someone if they found it in their stocking. Jams, honey butters, packaged cookies, and candies that all come in hipster packaging- what’s not to love?! And while it can be not-so-cheap they are all insanely worth it. Go in, grab brunch and a coffee, and then pick up some pancake mixes to give with the main intention of using the morning after Christmas for breakfast! 

And, there’s the Amazon bookstore a couple blocks down Southport where you can pick out some books or the perfect journal for whoever you need a nice standby gift for. Southport Corridor is the hookup for the holidays, just zoom over there! 

Hopefully some of these ideas have been helpful- I can’t wait to get everything stored away and start wrapping once we have the tree up!!! The holidays make me WILD WITH CHEER. 

Until next time, Happy Eating!

-Natalie

[writer59january13]

my doggerel kant

bass sic cully, plucking strings iz a ja    Cane Nines Har Able     To Out Best playing cello yo yo Ma   so stated by this fretful pa

Ode per pooch pounding ruff   sounding sub woofer. Whew - all done taking a leak   behind bushes of favorite vetch tub bull patch so now,

  arf goes me dog gone   bark a roll and ruff sketch shod ye be least bit interested in this retch in this faux paused muttering mongrel,

who (despite viscous rumors to the contrary) nada a leech nor letch boot actually quite a "good" fetch and a fine prairie home companion –

even if yar tail got docked   with out anesthesia by a pretty lass see still...Yukon feel melancholy nonetheless juiced buffer end me like ya know throw   a boner en re:coe Fermi can catch.

Me - iz one hippie dawg, who sports hair reed style like a veil longish, and minimally groomed, asper an antagonistic, sans brothers Grimm tale

with no intent to rant nor rail searching fur gallivanting   female nursery rhyme minus a quail boot...with jack and his pail,

which known storybook   quite old as a rusty nine-inch nail stating dogmatic, humanistic and lyric words once adored by this older Socratic male

offers himself as a bona fide   potential Petsmart call soul mate hale and hearty without any major Def Jam organ fail yore, beardless yet scruffy,

  I wear spectacles rather bifocals bare lee stay put on me snout   to see the world more crystal clear especially when chaste   to impress a bitch in heat -

  like ye mud dear whom height welcome   letting me nibble on one or t'other ear of yours, now trotting along on my yipping badinage whim per with poetic trademark flair,

which doggerel seems unstoppable probably from a malfunction milk bone shaped cerebral gear aye attest trademark viz   somewhat long wavy, course brown hair

might also involve well tangled follicular roots affirming me to hear snapping jeer ring boxer bullies, which floppy mop top in tandem to firm undersized gluteus maximus or hmm rear oft times incites other mongrels to stare

yet, the ability to camouflage Ike coon sitter a bonus, akin to a camel lion or if you prefer chameleon, this trait stems when Aztec,   my faux pas amidst Mayan

Runic ruins, where traipsing   for long stretches of time ah stopped to chat with Ryan a local junkyard hound, which   at human years over 100 keeps on tryin

to survive within   dog eat horse meat world, where canines sprang from wolverine zoo and as a complete stranger introduced muss elf as "man's best friend" to you

from a place in mind known as xandu which could afford room enough for two if ye would only stand or sit in this queue similar to waiting in a cloistered pew

But better grab a place   before places number few from those who utter yabba dabba do. I blithely admit not to be a stud just a recent emigre hoisted himself out of the mud from that antediluvian flood

like some garden variety muggle   with a male member dud but rather a regular bovine chewing his cud and just wanna be a companionable bud. no intent to be neither indecent nor lewd,

which rapid-fire reply   helps my anxiety-riddled mood unsure what level of interest exists   toward this ordinary dude for reasons and rhymes,   i scratch my flea gnawed head and brood. most people find my poetic attempts unclear

and get quite frazzled - with nostrils that flair like some fire breathing dragon   filled with rage and glare all on account of human desire for friendship,

and some woman for me to care which closeness worth   far more than gems, jewels and trinkets so...if a safe risk taking mood, i would be interested for ye to share.

literary enjoyment and   entertainment primary reason i write from a little known wayfarer that trawls the virtual seas this night

whereby my being pitched to and fro which forces necessity   to hold on with all me might. care not for this playful male ye seem quite desperate a guy to nail,

I could benefit from someone to play the role of inxs bare naked lady and super tramp   (ah bet she iz jist a cheap trick), this jack rustle of no trades   could enjoy a gal to hold his pale. oh...fair and lovely princess

  in this surreal and virtual space might thee put down the drawbridge with mush ado of a quick pace and no need to feign shock   nor surround thyself with defenses to brace against some maliciousness on my part -

just a wandering troubadour able, eager, ready willing to show his smart pedigreed fact sheet, and maybe even other parts of his anatomy with dignity and amazing grace.

Sangfroid persona makes joie de vivre the perfect human to adopt, and more fun than a wii ill that chased a monkey named zee row, who aims tubby yar beau.  

[flickeringflame216]

@clawedandcute

Luna Moth Mug // Iris Mug on Etsy

[mmckenzieport]

By Melissa McKenzie

With the upcoming celebration of Valentine’s Day, sweethearts will take part in the tradition of exchanging tokens and trinkets with their beloved. While curmudgeons claim these sometimes costly knickknacks are a conspiracy by card and flower companies to stay in business, the symbols of love are rooted in history, and in the Feb. 6 Coffee with the Curator at the Triton Museum of Art, Chief Curator Preston Metcalf explained the history of the symbolism associated with the day of love.

Originally called Lupercalia–a Feb. 14 holiday when the masters would symbolically trade places with their slaves–the celebration evolved into an “anything goes” day where young men would write their desires on a billet of paper or cloth and give them to young women, often resulting in orgies and pregnancy.

Later, Saint Valentine was jailed for preaching about Christianity. While in jail, he fell in love with the jailer’s daughter and sent a card professing his attraction, which she received as he was being beheaded on Feb. 14.

After Pope Gelasius proclaimed Saint Valentine the patron saint of romance in 496, Romans–even Christians in Rome–were still celebrating Lupercalia and, in an attempt to clean up the celebration, the church Christianized it, eliminating the anything goes mentality. Men, however, continued to give their love interest cards, a tradition continued today.

February flowers, specifically roses, originated with rose windows–spiral, stained glass windows with images of Mary and baby Jesus in the center. “It’s because of the rose window, because of Mary that roses became identified with February,” said Metcalf. “It goes back to this. Before the rose, it was the star. The star was a symbol of the ancient goddess going all the way back to one of the most ancient goddesses of civilizations.”

The leap from cards and flowers to the feelings of love associated with Valentine’s Day came with the Troubadours, and the art of the time.

The lid of a circa 1330 jewelry box, Attack on the Castle of Love–two knights jousting below swooning women and Cupid in the top corner shooting his heart-pointed arrow down below–best explains Troubadour amour. “In this age of love,” said Metcalf, “in the age of the Troubadours and romantic love, it would be coming for the knight to go up to a young woman and pledge his servitude to her and if he was very lucky she would give him either a rose or she would tie her scarf onto her lance and he would be her champion ... It’s all about romantic love. The church did not like this. They did not like this entire tradition.”

It wasn’t until Jeffrey Chaucer when the modern day idea of Valentine’s Day came to be. “For this was on St. Valentine’s Day when every bride cometh there to choose his mate,” said Metcalf, quoting Chaucer. “That’s how we got it folks. When you get your loved one flowers, chocolates, whatever it may be, you are celebrating a tradition that grew up in the 12th to 14th centuries because you cannot kill the old traditions.”

Metcalf begins an art history lecture series, America: A History in Art, on Thursday, March 2. Visit www.tritonmuseum.org for more information.