spirit of the fire

Suitors and Smells (and sensations)

Alyn Crawford - you take in a deep breath and know his skin smells of freshly ground grains, flour, the crispness of newly chopped wood. Bread baked in a giant stone oven; the ticklish sensation of sugar and powder on the tip of your nose. Kneading. Crafting. The consistent patience of rolling of dough. It is the comfort of spices swirling into gastronomic harmony, of warm soups and hearty meals, of laughter by the fire and communal spirit and the tenderness that comes with family. You take in another breath and -
There is steel and gunpowder and mud and wiremesh; the stench of sweat; of thundering onward and constant pushing to pierce front lines. Chaos. There is running and shouting and desparate need to win - or to save a life - there isn’t much difference now. You can hear roars of artillery, of everlasting marches and screaming, of souls taken apart by violence and blood (- there is just so much blood)

Leo Crawford - you take in a deep breath and know his skin smells of pages upon pages upon pages of knowledge; new and worn and yellowed and earmarked, and somewhat torn because he was reading too fast and wanted to know what happened next. His is the smell of books: leather-bound, hardbound, paperback, pages held inside a ziplock bag because he dropped it in the bath once. Encyclopedias, codals, annotated texts, forgotten tomes with hidden knowledge and secrets whispered from the gods. You take in another breath and -
A hundred bodies shouting at the same time, screaming over one another, a battle of interests and bottom-lines, of insurmountable pride and extreme prejudice. It is the crushing weight of responsibility. You hear the pounding of the gavel and calling people into order but the voice is lost in the cacophony of ideals and principles and money being exchanged by well-meaning hands and well-meaning looks and (how dare you betray your family like this)

Louis Howard - you take in a deep breath and know his skin is dozens of perfumes and fragrances, of flowers in full bloom: dandelions, orchids, and yawning hibiscus and lush bougainvilleas, of woodlands and barks, of afternoons by the lake and its stillness. His is the scent of adoration and delicacy, of holding on to dreams, tempered - but only ever so slightly - of realism and practicality. His is efficiency and managements but with the tenderest of hearts. You take in another breath and -
A musty bedroom, old and sagging wood, metal bars and grime coated windows; soot and dust - so much undisturbed dust - blanketing untouched linen, the bed, the room, the house. Cobwebs serve as curtains and each door creaks the way a child would but the crib had long been empty and the house long abandoned and forgotten and discarded and (you don’t know what being left alone feels like)

Giles Christophe - you take in a deep breath and know his skin is a coating of pastries and cinnamon and the sweetest powdered things sprinkled generously on confectionaries. It is fountains of chocolate, of stacked sugary delicacies that make you cringe in delight, and the slow dripping of honey from the tip of your tongue. It is soft cushions and even softer beds. You take in another breath and -
Melted wax stamped on proclamation and decrees, of harsh words and harsher laws, of meetings held in the middle of the night and the unshakeable feeling of being constantly watched, hairs on the back of your neck standing on the end. It is ambition and hunger and power that comes with negotiating with a knife to your throat - only you can’t see it just yet. Plots, entrapments, and hidden machinations, of secrets sealed with loyalty or fear and (you thought I would never amount to more than this)

Byron Wagner - you take in a deep breath and you smell ink and parchment, hear them being shuffled into order, given and signed and taken away, a constant flurry of things done and to be done. It is the burning candles late into the wee hours of breaking dawn, of hands guiding you and teaching you the way of things. It is cool summer nights spent dreaming upon the stars; it is musk and privilege, silk sheets and luxury. A firm voice telling you it knows better things. You take in another breath and -
The smell of almost rotting meat and flies; nature having its way with untended wounds. The stench of blood, spilled and pooling, and bodies dragged across stone slabs, of chains clasping against gasping throats, of panic and fear. It is submission, of opening yourself up entirely unto forces you cannot comprehend. You hear the gross sobbing and spilling of tears and drool, and absolute compliance to the haunting of ghosts, or else lose whatever it puny thing it is that you cling on and (I have no use for you now)

Albert Bruckhardt - you take in a deep breath and you smell fabric and cotton and tailored suits, and ever so faintly the smell of vegetables and greens, of freshly plucked apples and strawberries, and the diligence that is required to tending gardens and ensuring that all matters are in working order. It is freshly dug earth. It is grease in the cogs of an infinite clockwork, the constant hurrying about. You smell precision and detail and absolute unquestionable loyalty. You take in another breath and -
You smell horses and leather and the distinct human scent that comes when skin touches a burning blade. Whips and swords and bloody morningstars and the smell of the earth, again, except hastily dug to ease the burden hauling corpses. It is rope to your wrists and manacles around your feet. The teeth-gritting sound of sharpening swords and the roughness of hands to your throat and (I told you! I told you! I told you this isn’t so!)

Nico Meier - you take in a deep breath and you smell early mornings and the warm chamomile tea. His is the scent of fresh linen and beddings, of waking up and finding yourself warmed by the tender rays of the sun; of fresh water drawn for a bath, of lathering soap, and oils on smooth skin. It is peeking through a flutter of eyelids, of delicate china, and the way you chew when you know you have a secret. You take in another breath and -
The stink of sewers and muck and sludge and dozens of other things no longer useful co-mingled with people who have been forgotten and forsaken and bear the burden and shame of being born. It is the underbelly of the city. It is unwashed bodies huddled together to keep warm during winter, of longing and  desperation and feverish desire to live just one more day no matter what, to be something to someone or anyone or everyone and (I just wanted someone to really look at me)

Sid -  you take in a deep breath and you smell freshly squeezed lemon garnished on vodka, of old whiskey and scotch on ice. Alcohol tempered by an even head on more even shoulders. It is the smell of sunny days and running on vast and open fields. His is the smell of constant presence, of laughter and inconsequence of any action you take whatsoever. It is throwing the ball so hard and so far and yet knowing that it will come back to you because it always does. You take in another breath and -
It is the smell of chloroform and gasoline, of clandestine meetings over spiked drinks, of leaning in to whisper only the darkest of secrets. It is the binding of wrists and the gag in your mouth and the shadows at the corner of your eyes. Money constantly passing between hands because loyalty is nonexistent. It is the lightning fast jab you can’t quite see, the paranoia of perpetually holding a dagger under your pillow and (I need you to leave me alone)

Robert Branche - you take in a deep breath and you smell a hundred different paints and a hundred different solvents, and a hundred different canvases on display. His is the scent of splashing watercolor, of mixing colors for rainbows, of standing still and taking in the landscape. It is kneeling down on one knee to take each of you hand to kiss tenderly. His is the scent of restlessness and voyage, the gasps of experiencing things for the first time, of constant change and you take in another breath and -
You smell an old, heavy cape that has never seen the rays of the sun. Myrrh smeared upon two hundred seventy bones. It is the smell of rigidness, of unbendable will.  A thousand voices offering a thousand different advice, not even once considering that the ears that hear cannot bear the weight of the world. It is power thrust upon unready hands and (I did it to protect them, to protect you!)

For some context, I run a group of 3 people (a halfling rogue, an elf/bird cleric, and an owlbear monk) with a homebrew campaign in a world that I created. At the end of the campaign they had accidentally entered a portal to another realm and were now inside a surreal version of an abandoned library. 

Rogue: Can I try to read the books?

Me (DM): You try to read the book but all the words make no sense and keep moving around on the page. You basically forget everything as soon as you look away from it no matter how many times you read it.

Rogue: … Can I burn it?

Cleric: WE GO INTO A MAGICAL LIBRARY THAT PROBABLY WANTS US DEAD AND YOUR FIRST THOUGHT IS TO LIGHT SOMETHING ON FIRE?? NO. I DON’T LET HER DO THAT

The whole party later got attacked by a giant magical being that had been protecting the area, and almost killed 2 of the members, including the cleric.

Rogue: I’m just saying if you had let me burn down the library, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Cleric: Shut up.

The Fire Signs - Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius

The spirit of a Fire body conjures the elixir of pure magic,
a fire dance of dream weaving, apparition, revelation, and divine dust that bursts in fireballs of crackling intuition. Aries spins a lucid Alice in Wonderland
imagination into a live playground, spiraling down the chorus of cosmos and reaching new heights in captivating flight,
flinging into the universe headfirst without hesitation or hindrance. Leo is ripe and ready to revel in the celebration of life and being, the eternal
cosmic spectacle that fire twirls under the sun and spins under the spotlight
of stars. Everything is grand, beautiful, and coated in a reverent inferno.The Sagittarius mind is ablaze with philosophical riches and colourful
worldly wisdom. Their enchanted bow and arrow is shot into the
golden radiance of heaven, and as they ride, they fly, rolling through the
musings of the moon and the thoughts of the sky Gods and angels


The Earth Signs - Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn

Sensuality nourishes the mind, body, and spirit with earth. As we return to the gentle rhythms of the seasons, earth grounds us with simplicity, to breathe in the fresh country air, to feel the moisture of the ocean kissing your skin, to manage the equilibrium that always returns to stability.
Earthy individuals are aligned with time, detail, and consolidation.They process stimulus logically and with a sort of naturalistic poetry. Often there is an introverted and internalized quality about earth people. Taurus is the music of mother earth, Virgo is the embroidery of natural perfection, and Capricorn is the soul of earthly wisdom.
They are withdrawing, focused, and intelligent, in touch with the physical body and typically responsive to its needs. This is why earthy people can go on binges and detoxes naturally, they just listen to the voice of their body


The Air Signs - Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius

Air is the essence that travels through every body and
every spirit. It is the medium that human beings speak and communicate through. Air exists within all of us, this invisible and translucent quality that you can’t grab a hold of for a minute. Thoughts
are invisible and opaque too
this is why Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius people can float through life in an air bubble, cushioned by veiled words and puzzles
The Air signs play the pan flute of the cosmos, inspires the breeze of everyone, breathing in the thoughts and musings of every man
and they swirl in the mind like a spectacular orchestra, the Air sign person inhales language and words, decorates and designs
and like exhaling through the panflute, they turn words into music, they turn thoughts into a melody, poetry, a tactile bliss of sensory delight


The Water Signs - Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces

The water signs symbolize the elements of historical feminine healing; witches, midwives, and nurses. They are the fundamental forces of life, their creative ether is sourced through the womb of the goddess. Music of the invisible world plays a loud orchestra in their ears and emotions are
experienced on a more extensive and intense resonance. Sleep offers a momentary solace, but even dream life tends to be vivid and potent. There is very often an internal demand to retreat in solitude, hideaway from the clamor of the world, conceal themselves within their sanctuary.
Water is the dissolute mirror, where the flap of a butterfly wing seems to send
a whirlpool through the impression; and yet here lies the liquid force so
powerful it holds up whole vessels

-Cherry

When you’re trying to fall asleep but then you realize that if you take The Peoples of Middle Earth as canon, both Fëanor’s eldest and youngest sons burned to death: Amrod because he tried to turn back too soon and Maedhros because he was determined to see the quest to the bitter end.

The Problem With Having Small Pets as a Witch

The problem with having small pets (rodents, birds, reptiles, amphibians, etc.) as a witch means you can’t burn anything that puts off smoke because their tiny lungs are so small that the amount of smoke we can breath and still be fine is 10000000000× less fine to them. Wanna burn some sage to get rid of that negativity clog in your room? NOPE. Need to burn some herbs or some shit? WRONG. Wanna burn some incense to help with a spell or just make your room smell nice? WRONG AGAIN. Granted, you could have your incense like 2 inches away from your open window and that should be fine but I mean DIFFICULT. You love your animals but you’ve also gotta get rid of that nasty ass energy and it isn’t going away with salt water so I mean what do you do? WELL HAVE I GOT A SOLUTION FOR YOU FRIEND.

0: lmao don’t burn shit on a regular basis. At most, once every other week..
1: Open all Windows. Open. Them. All.
1.5: If its incense, just put it as close to the window as possible as you can (and I mean fucking close) and disregard the rest.
2: Get a fan ready because boy oh boy you’re gonna need it.
3: Cover all of the tanks/cages/what have you, with towels. Don’t leave an inch open buddy. (No, this isnt going to suffocate them, towels are just acting as a filter to get all that nasty shit out)
4: Burn yo shit AS FAST AS YOU CAN no longer than 7 minutes because the smoke will murder your babies.
5: Put it out and IMMEDIATELY TURN THAT FAN ON, AIMED OUT A FUCKING WINDOW.
6: Run the fan for 10-30 minutes
7: Take off the towels AND ENJOY YOUR ALIVE CHILDREN

You are welcome.

The higher you vibrate the clearer the signs become, the clearer the way becomes, the clear your overall spiritual vision becomes.
—  Lalah Delia
5

feanorianweek → maedhros the tall

MAEDHROS did deeds of surpassing valour, and the orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead.

✨ WITCHY ART CHALLENGE ~ Day 5 ~ Witchcraft tool ✨

I just love how many different ouija board and planchette we can find and couldn’t resist to draw one myself~