The Potter and The Merchants Daughter.

Why am I haunted so by these phantoms
Story after story, verse after verse
I can’t help feeling this deep agony
Long ago a man lived in Scandinavia
A potter, a warrior, he traveled many lands
And it was there he met her to the east
Upon a merchants road, she longed for home
Yes, I’ve dreamt of him, through his eyes
Know his love of the morning sky
And his love of her cherry blossoms
Which she described lovingly to him
That she begged he come and see
That he live with her in the rising sun
Under the watchful sakura trees
The man who never seen such things
Would not leave his village isle
To live so far from Odin’s gaze
So young merchant daughter became
His devoted viking maiden
And together a son they did raise
To create simple tools from simple clay
How long ago, how many lifetimes now
And I am a simple man yet still
Is that merchants daughter out there now?
Is she in the rising sun, or is she yue
Perhaps I know what she means by “Hanzu”
Zhengou? the people of Han, like Waigong Lee?
Alas, maiden of dreams, finding you will set me free.

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Final DraftChapter Eleven: The Odd Shop Keep

“Sometimes things are hidden
in the most obvious of places,”
Arajuan to Anika

“Get up, get up,” a woman’s voice rang out, “Breakfast is ready.”
Anika dragged herself from the bed. On the foot of her bed was a new dress, a lovely medieval elven styled gown. It was black with red lace trim along the sleeves and hem. The skirt was black except the middle; it was red like the lace. Beside the dress was a small tiara with a bright red gem in the center. She was certain it was a ruby.

She washed again in the washbasin and slipped from her silk nightclothes into the beautiful garment. The sleeves flowed down her arms to the tip of her long middle finger. The skirt just touched the ground around her feet. She placed the tiara on her head. The black corset top squeezed her into an hourglass. She tied a red sash with a money pouch attached around her waist. For the first time in her life, she looked feminine and royal. She slipped on a pair of shoes she found at the foot of the bed. They were black strapped sandals that looked elegant with the dress.

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Holiday Story Assignment

By Jayson Knapp

Instructions: Make your own holiday story with characters and a plot that reveals characteristics about them. (BrainQuest) 

Once upon a time three friends went ghost hunting, but they found more than ghosts. There were zombies, skeletons, witches, and giant spiders all in one place wanting to take revenge. They will destroy the world and make it a haunted one. The kids went into a fright and fled to tell the town. They did not believe the kids until it was too late. When the attack occurred, the town was terrified. They fled and all that was left were three brave kids turned zombies forever lost to time.

Teacher Commentary: This assignment receives a 0. I like the creativity, but the goal was to create memorable characters and you made forgettable characters. You gave them no name. They have no characteristic except for being maybe brave.

An Aldaria Poem: A Father’s Remorse

By Damien Knight

(Story poem from Koraki Saros Kanosis to his imprisoned daughter.)

I am sorry my child for your pain
For the suffering you lived
The raging guilt drives me insane
If I heeded my head
Yet I headed my heart instead
If I had not done so carelessly
Dear sweet Lidie my angel
You would be here in my house with me’=
I only ask you forgive this old crow
How sorry I am you never will know

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What I Got In Trouble for as a Kid

By Damien Knight

My 300 Writing prompts is what I got int trouble for most. I got in trouble for most as a kid was not paying attention. I got in fights occasionally and got in trouble for other things but was yelled at most for my lack of focus. Whether it was forgetting my umbrella during a down pour or not closing a door in a timely manner, I got scolded. I fear I yell too much at my own children for similar such mole hills.

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The Shadow Self an Update

By Damien Knight

Back in 2010 I wrote a blog about my journey for a spiritual name. At the time I followed an Egyptian Pagan practice. I am still a Kemetic Pagan though I am now more of a solitary practitioner. Part of my faith is the selection of a spiritual name that would be my “magickal” name. At the time I picked Scaledshadow to honour both my faith in dragons and my fight with the concept of shadow self.

The shadow self is a spiritual belief that we have two versions of ourselves. One version is who we are based on hereditary traits and conditioning by society. It is the face we wear in public, who everyone thinks we are.

The other us is what the “shadow self” is. This self is the one we deny and suppress. The “shadow” carries all our dark desires, the things we view as sin. These can be true psychopathic thoughts or things society has told us to deny. Lust, Greed, and the other 7 deadly sins are things our shadow self might hold as values. My shadow self held something central to my identity as a value: Masculinity.

I took myself to task to find my spiritual name without realisation that I had my name long before that journey. That journey I took ScaledShadow from wolf as he slept. If I had listened to my own dreams, I would have known I was Koraki. It’s cliché to have the name Raven in pagan circles. For me though the Raven is an archetype that fits. He is the light giver and trickster in various folk traditions. He also goes through a transformation.

I will write the story I once read about the raven later for this blog. Koraki is my shadow self the darker aspects society locked away. The desire for masculinity, the hunger that burns and I see him in my dreams fighting to be acknowledged. He tells me I am stronger than I think I am. I am a fighter, a king and that I can still be a man.

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Chapter Eight: A Question of Character Final Draft

“Hate me.

I love when things are complicated.”

Koraki to Anika

Arajuan did not have the luxury to stop. A tight schedule meant he had to push on. He could still smell her blood on him, feel her heartbeat against him. His own heart pounded against his ribcage. He knew this feeling, a roar in his chest from a time before he was Arajuan. She was the lady of shadows; how could he do this to her?

Arajuan had to shake this off, aloof, wicked, heartless. This is war, the price of war is death. He would laugh but it was not funny. The men followed him, orcs were the core group, from the same tribe Tsuke and Tuk hailed. The others were victims of towns he decimated. He relished in their fear when new towns he conquered saw his necromantic arts. It was a delight when they knew they bound their fate to him.

The war drums played as they marched. Socrates landed on his shoulder. He knew his master better than anyone; they were bonded as brothers. Socrates sensed Arajuan’s troubled heart.

“The girl, was she the wyrmling?” Socrates asked

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