Tag Archives: magic

Lair of the Black Shade…

rs-016*

…A flutter of recognition flicked across his gaze.

“What is it?” Asked Wen, her icy tone slicing through the summer haze like a frosty stare.

“There’s an old lay, I can’t quite remember how it goes…”

“Try!”

*

rs-018*

“I don’t know, something about a green valley between two hills…”

*

rs-006*

“And a sentinel of stone which has to be appeased…”

*

rs-003*

“Before entry into the living rock is granted…”

*

rs-004*

“The last bit goes on about the embrace of a One-Eyed God, or something…”

*

rs-007*

“By Odin, I know that place!” shrieked Wen, leaping to her feet.

Moments later the Beast was again roaring along the lane.

Anyone would think she was glad to be back on the road…

*

Dear Wen: Wednesbury…

France & Vincent

Dear Wen

I suppose ultimately ‘Odin’s Steed’ is the eight-spoked wheel of the year, which he rides like the wind and which could almost be yet another parallel with the ‘Christ-Spirit’ that blows where it listeth…

Repton and Breedon would be good at some point but I also have a yearning to spend some time in Bakewell this weekend and not just for the tarts…

There is a hill-fort to the left of the bend as you approach the bridge into the village and I would quite like to have a shufty at the crossroads, which may have once sported our Saxon Cross from the frontispiece of Aethling…

I know it now makes a lot of sense for the crosses to be in the churchyard, for all sorts of reasons, but can you imagine what it would be like coming across one in original situ…?

It is possible that the…

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Dear Don: Saxon Sisters…

France & Vincent

nicks 012Dear Don,

It’s been a bit hectic round here this week, what with one thing and another, but I did manage to dig up our Saxon sisters… not literally, you understand… though I’m working on that….

I did find a superb church dedicated to one of them, though at Castor. No Pollux… Definitely one of ‘ours’… you should see the medieval wall paintings of St Catherine! Not to mention the green men and the carvings on the capitals… It is a bit off our patch for now, being Peterborough way… but I think there may end up being a visit at some point…

nicks 016Speaking of wall paintings, I felt the need of a little peace after the busyness this week and called at ORC. Thought I could test the new camera while I was there. Battery died after just a few shots though. I was really surprised… you’d expect the…

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Dear Don: Wednesbury…

France & Vincent

Dear Don,

Still cross-eyed from the editing bBakewell Imbolc 001 (95)ut Doomsday should be ready for off by August as we planned. I can’t believe how much stuff there is in there… or how much more we have already for Dark Sage! All sorts of stuff keeps cropping up, now. Did you know that Malham Cove, according to one legend, was made by one of Sleipnir’s hooves? There’s even a suggestion that Santa’s reindeer might have a basis in the eight legged horse of Odin.

Such a rich vein of mythology to look at… I feel as if my education has been sadly lacking, you know! Why do we not get taught this stuff in school? I remember you telling me that it was the search for the mythology of Albion that had carried you into the research that led to Crucible of the Sun.

Bakewell Imbolc 001 (59)Funny, really, I suppose we…

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Contexts: scribes…

The Silent Eye

Image result for sumerian cylinder seals - beer and planets

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With the advent of cuneiform, the Oral Tradition continued to develop alongside ‘written literature’, but the primary purpose of recording stories in writing was not necessarily to supply individual readers with a coherent or connected account of ‘historical’ events.

Ancient stories were used for a multitude of purposes, often in extracts attached to ritual, to give authenticity, or to provide an aetiology, i.e. a reason for the way things are as they are, to lend weight to ancient traditions, or customs, or to an incantation.

Many of the ancient scribes were Incantation Priests.

*

“When in doubt,” smiles Wen, producing a battered copy of Longmans from the murky depths of her shoulder bag, and, rather too conspicuously, for my liking, clearing her throat…

Sure enough, this unwarranted live event has now started to draw the attention of some idle strays who sidle over and form a crescent around Wen…

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November? How did that happen? Plus #BookReview Mister Fox by @SCVincent #GraphicNovel

Barb Taub

Remember, remember the fifth of November…—Guy Fawkes chant

On Monday my neighbors in our little village gathered on the beach to celebrate Guy Fawkes day and Bonfire Night. For my American readers, this is basically like the Fourth of July, except it’s usually really cold. And we have a big fire. And instead of watermelon and beer, we have hot soup and whisky. And instead of celebrating our independence from the King of England, we celebrate um… not blowing up the King of England. And we burn a Catholic (well, in effigy, anyway, although I think this year’s Guy was orange, with a yellow wig and teeny hands…)

So actually, it’s absolutely nothing like the Fourth of July in America. But there ARE fireworks, and little kids DO run around with sparklers, and people clap and “Ooooh!” at their favorite rockets, and it IS a hella lot of fun!

BUT…that…

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Little Acorns…

France & Vincent

HM15a

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… A paper flyer blowing in the wind clings to my ankle.

I stoop and peel it from my trouser leg, unfurl it and read…

‘…LITTLE ACORNS…’

A Puppet-Play Figured in Three Acts

FEATURING THE REDOUBTABLE MR PUNCH

                                                                       

THE PUPPETS:

PUNCH

STATS-MAN (dress-coat and top-hat)

JUDY

OSAMA THE EXECUTIONER (Moor with straggly beard, caftan and turban)

                                                                                                                       

I can see the wooden booth, its canvas covers rippling noisily in the sea breeze, from my vantage point on the top promenade and the close bunch of predominantly small forms huddled before it.

I walk down to the beach and reach the back of that small huddle just as the drum rolls cease… the curtain is raised, and the cheers of the audience go up…

            Punch is busy scanning at a scanning machine.

            PUNCH: (Humming) Hi-Ho… Hi-Ho…

He lifts a piece of…

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Contexts: creation…

The Silent Eye

Image result for sumerian cylinder seals

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‘In Mesopotamian mythology a Mother Goddess, with the assistance of a God of Wisdom created men out of clay, mixed with the blood of a slain God.

The Primeval male and female human beings were not allotted a life-span.

People originally only died as the result of natural disasters such as plague, famine or flood, or by internecine strife.

The Epic of Gilgamesh culminated with the introduction of a limited life-span for Mankind.

Man’s original purpose in being was to relieve the Gods and Goddesses of hard labour.

Gods and Goddesses associated with birth and fertility were also patrons of mining, smelting, and metal work.’

*

“We find the information contained on this board to be ever so slightly uncomfortable.”

“It’s slave mentality.”

“And it’s metallic mind.”

 “’The blood of the slain God’ is perhaps most perplexing.”

“It might be more than that if the Gods were Planetary Beings.”

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Dear Don: Devil’s Drop…

France & Vincent

Diana and co north 003Dear Don,

Sorry about the inbox…I don’t think it should be too bad this time. I didn’t think it would be a great idea to completely fill it while you’ve been unwell. Hope you are back on your feet and feeling better now.

The Devil’s Rock stuff for Doomsday got a bit out of hand… I hadn’t intended writing that much, but I could see it all so clearly. As soon as I sat down at the keyboard it all started pouring out. I could feel it too. The whole journey from the zodiac stones to the Place of Dreaming. Not as bad as the Telling Stone, thank goodness… but I could almost smell the smoke and taste the fear.
The Telling Stone at the circle… well, you were there. You know how badly that went… I’m still not sure how I got the car to the pub for dinner…

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Days of Honey

France & Vincent

1

“When the sun rose once again it was more than a new dawn for the world. A new order, a new era had begun.

And it was time.

We from whom the stars were seeded were sent to earth to walk amongst you. We wore flesh like a garment, clothing our immanence, choosing the limitation of your little lives as our place of working.

The people were nomads, chasing subsistence where the water rose and the animals ran. We could do nothing with them except seek them across the desert. How were we to teach them if they could not stay still? How could they listen if their days were taken by their need for survival? Indeed, we saw such violence and starvation in that arid land that even the gods wept.

It was a problem.

Famine and war had raped the earth and the people were little more than…

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