kimurho

There is a dragon preserve near my home. A large tract of land given over to the preservation of these endangered and protected creatures. The Order of St. George has much to answer for; some breeds are gone forever, thanks to their irresponsible vendetta.

( Read more... )

I have written to Arthur about my concerns. I expect an answer shortly.

A very cool series of related dreams. ( Read more... )

It was when I woke up that I realized why everyone kept calling me Deusie. From Ducis.

It isn't easy to converse with the fae. Most of them don't bother to learn mortal tongue (no more than that of mortals taking the time to learn fae languages), instead they cast a glamour that persuades mortals that we understand them. That works about as well as any glamour; which is to say, with indifferent success. That's how several mortals listening to the same fae at the same time can "hear" different things.

But the glastig took the effort to speak to speak to me with mortal words. Or word. "Closed." That's all she would say, over and over again. She was so insistent that I decided to investigate. I left the village matron with her, gathered up Dis, and went to the standing stone on the moor, where she was found.

Dis is a rock goblin, rooted in this land, not in Faerie. Being a rock goblin, he can ... not exactly converse ... but ... understand, maybe ... the stones and bones of the land. He doesn't have much glamour, only enough to convince the unwary that he's naught more than a rather large stone. I've learned enough of his language to understand some of what he says and he's learned enough of mine to do the same. Neither of us can speak the language of the other - physical impossibilities, I believe. Anyway, communication is possible.

The standing stone was not entirely born of the bones of the moors, he told me. There is something of Faerie about it. That wasn't surprising, considering the ceremonies the locals conduct there. From the state the glastig was in when found and by her lamentations and painful words to me, I suspect that the stone was a Gate into one of the lands of Faerie. A Gate that closed on her unexpectedly. That is what I expected Dis to tell me.

What he did say surprises me and worries me. I'm not entirely certain of this, but I think he said that ... that the stone is dead. The implication was cold and dead, like a corpse that's been lying out for a while so that all semblance of life has fled.

Dis is living stone, as I am living flesh. Perhaps to him all rock is alive, somehow? Perhaps as alive as a tree or flower ... or an animal? ... is to me? The Spirit of God flows through all life and is excreted as magic. Does Their Spirit also flow through minerals and other matter?

What can kill rock? Whatever happened drained all the magic from the area. Could it have been some necromantic rite?

I have informed the local Border Guard; she will send word on to the central authorities. I suspect that I will have to send word to the Academy wizards. This is beyond my knowledge, beyond my understanding, and far, far beyond the capabilities of a village witch.

When I returned to the bothy, I found the glastig gone and the matron sitting in a mazement. A simple glamour, I broke it easily, but she was unable to tell me what had happened. I guess that the glastig left of her own; there are no signs that she was taken unwilling. I told the villagers to contact me if they encounter her again, then I left, heading back to my cottage. Maigret Black and Smitham will have to wait.

Good witch. Bad witch.

I'd like to say that there's no such thing; that's there only witch, but the truth is that anything a being can do can be twisted for selfish and immoral purposes. Even the craft. But not even necromancy is inherently bad. Death is not bad, no more than birth is good. They are both aspect of living.

In one land, they say that would-be witches undergo an ordeal to attain their powers. They begin wearing a white cloak, to indicate their novice status. At the end of the ordeal, the cloak is red or black. Red witches deal with death, disease, and damage. Black witches with life and healing.

They say it, but I'm not sure I believe it. Mother Amary, my mistress in the craft, taught that witchcraft is balance. It's the point between light and shadow, life and death, mortal and fae. All of life is balance. If the balance shifts, it is the responsibility of the witch to restore it.

For example, there was a man who invariably had good luck at the expense of his nearest neighbour. He dammed a spring in his lands that dried up the flow of water to his neighbor. His cattle flourished while his neighbour's sickened. His harvests overflowed the barns, but his neighbour's barely served to keep body and soul together.

After seven years, the rich man's luck turned. The stream diverted to flow into the neighbour's land, drying up the pond he'd created. His cattle got loose and fell victim to a wolf's hunger. His barn burned to the ground, with all the harvest within. He argued that the neighbour had sabotaged him.

In a way, he had. He came to me for help with his string of bad luck and I determined that the first man had obtained a luck charm from somewhere, from Faerie, ultimately; one that spooled off another's luck. The first man had set the charm so that he profited off the second. I found the charm and removed it, replacing it with one that returned the balance of luck to where it belonged.

Was my charm a curse? To the first man, it definitely was. To the second, however, it was a blessing.

Was it evil? Or good? Neither. It was balance.

And the fae charm; was that curse? Again, to the second man, in deed and intent. To the first, again, it was a blessing.

Was the fae charm evil? Not really. Immoral, definitely. It stole the rath of the second man for the benefit of the first, but theft is not evil in and of itself.

That is not to say that there is no evil in the world. Evil is the province of the priest; not the village witch.

I am making preparations to be away for the week or more it will take to travel to Rivermark town to see Maigret Black's grandson. So far, I have visited two of the three hamlets for which I am responsible - Oakdon and Rockbottom.

The bees of Oakdon have agreed to help guard the bounds. A couple of swarms hived off at my request, increasing the coverage. Bees hate goblins. They attack as soon as the creatures approach. Maybe goblins smell like wasps? I don't know. But I do know that if any raiders managed to breach the bounds, my bees will be there to stop them.

Dis agreed, reluctantly, to keep watch at Rockbottom. Rock gnomes are solitary creatures and a scatter of five or ten make Rockbottom home. That's too crowded for my little boulder.

In both communities, I visited the sick and afflicted, leaving potions and remedies as needed. I maintain a couple of curses and one or two blessings in both that I need to check periodically to ensure that they don't warp into something else.

I'm leaving Smitham for last. I want to learn more about Maigret Black, her family and, most importantly, her son the trader and his wife.

The blacksmith's wife came to see me today. Maigret, her name is. Maigret Black. An important woman hereabouts, and not only because of her husband. The bees warned me she was coming but even so I barely had time to get ready. It's not a good idea for one of the villagers to see me when I'm not expecting company. No one expects a witch to look like the person next door, although they'd be surprised at how many of us there are living seemingly ordinary lives next door.

But I am an official witch and that means I need to look the part.

The reason she almost caught me unawares was the speed with which she came. She must have been almost running to lag the bees so shortly. For that matter, I was surprised that she was there at all, she'd left on a visit to her son in Rivermark town only a few days before.

Turns out, that was the reason for her haste. All was not well at her son's home. She told me that her grandson, a lad of three years age, was under an evil eye and she wanted me to go remove it.

Well, as flattering as that may be, I told her I couldn't. Rivermark town is not in my territory. There's a witch or wizard there in town to whom she should appeal; the one responsible for Rivermark.

I'm a village witch, not a town witch or a wizard. I like being a village witch. I have three hamlets for which I oversee the balance; Smitham, Rockbottom and Oakdon. I have help; the bees, Brunie, and Dis. And Pishek, of course. My cat. I can't even envision what sort of helpers a town witch would employ.

Maigret Black told me that her daughter-in-law wouldn't even consider the idea of bringing in a witch to help and her son ... Maigret's son, that is ... isn't at home at this time to insist. He's off on a trading trip which was why Maigret had decided to visit; to help out in his absence.

According to Maigret, her daughter-in-law ... Sheena ... had called in a doctor who told her that the boy had the falling sickness, for which there is no cure. He suggested that she tie the lad to his cot to keep him from harm.

What kind of advice is that?

The best thing ... the only thing ... that can be done is for Maigret herself to go to the local authorities for help. She's the lad's father's mother, that gives her the right, the power and the authority to insist, even over the boy's mother.

That's what I told her and then I sent her off.

But I don't feel so very happy with myself at the moment. The poor lad.

Conservatives like to claim that the United States has lost its way spiritually speaking.

I actually agree that most Western organized religions have done so.

They say that the problem is freedom. Lax morals, non-heterosexuality, refusing to acknowledge male dominance, refusing to grant them unlimited temporal power.

Over-acceptance of differences is what it all comes down to. They want everyone to be exactly like them and everything to be exactly the way that they want things to be.

I think that the problem is exactly the opposite.

Western religion started to go wrong when Christianity got powerful enough to start persecuting the Other. Other religions. Other practices of Christianity. Other ethnicities.

When they began to demonize the spiritual world, in fact, and to deny the gifts of the Spirit. They bred a race of humans who have no connection with the spiritual. That is overly attached to the material world.

The world around us is full of the Spirit and It manifests in so many different ways. There are spirits in the trees, in the flowers, in rocks. We people also put a small fraction of our own spirit into the things around us.

Personal story, I am often called upon to help with the registers when they won't do something they're supposed to. The other day, the franking machine was refusing to verify a check. I took the check, put one hand on top of the machine as I focused on ... well, on telling the machine to work ... and it did. (No point in the story if it hadn't, wot?)

Practically speaking, I did nothing that the other cashier hadn't done, but it worked for me. Maybe because I was paying attention, I put the check in properly/ carefully? But maybe I actually did connect with the spirit of magic. I don't know but I know that my method works.

I know that talking to non-animate things and machines keeps me calm enough that I don't get upset and lose my ability to rationalize and work through an issue.

And I know that if I keep silent and listen ... I will "hear" the answers I need.

Am I Christian? I am a follower of Christ, not of organized religion.
I strive to do on earth as the angels do in heaven.
I struggle to forgive others as I hope to be forgiven. (This is actually VERY difficult because I am harder on myself than I am on others.)
I delight in and am thankful for my daily "bread" - the material world that is a gift from God.

Am I Christian?
Are you?

There had been a revolution - the AI computer in the school had attained awareness and had taken control.

A rebel alliance was trying to overthrow the revolution - to turn off the computer leader. There were several teams of two or three. One of them contained R2D2 and C3P0 ... one of the freedom fighters, a young tech-savvy woman, kept calling them something like "education providing modules".

The Doctor was sealed in his TARDIS. All of his incarnations present at the same time, arguing with one another and trying to break free. They needed someone on the outside, but they couldn't get through.

We teleported into the school, each team to a separate location. I was with my husband, who had been in charge of the computer before it went rogue.

The halls were in ruins, the walls tumbling down. Some sentries approached, we hid. To our great surprise, the mobile unit of the Master Computer was with the sentries. He *knew* my husband was coming, wanted to capture him personally. He looked right at him in our hiding place and didn't see either of us.

We managed to get to the gathering spot, only to discover that all of our teams had been captured and were wearing the slave collars that controlled their thoughts. The tech-savvy female injected both droids with strings of random numbers to disrupt their ability to reason. The Master Computer was sitting down on his throne ... assuming his more powerful sessile construction - it looked like a transformer with several faces indicating the many functions it was controlling. The last face on the row, the smallest one, was that of my husband.

The one gleam of hope was the Doctor, and he was managing to contact a young girl thinking that it was me but she had no idea what was going on. The Master Computer had blocked all memory of the Doctor on those wearing the slave collars, so there was no one to tell the children who he was.

=============

I suspect that the dream was triggered by the recent infestation of AI art into one of the facebook groups I subscribe to combined with some thoughts I've been having about the meaning of an old Gaelic story about a woman who calls on her Good Neighbours for help and ends up being overwhelmed by them.

Apresentando Cheeter, um esquilo e descobrindo uma grande pegada de cachorro

( portuguese )

Apresentando a gata, Graymalkin (chamado Gray); a coruja, Nightwing; e a cobra, Quicklime
( Portuguese )