#and that would have meant no possible encounters with the boiling isles (?) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sepublic · 2 years

Text

The Titan Trapper and Belos; Pawns of the Collector?

We know A Titan Trapper killed our Titan, the Boiling Isles Titan. So for lack of an actual name, let’s just call him the Titan Trapper, esp since he’s apparently the only one who actually encountered a Titan, according to Bill and Tarak’s dialogue.

Curiously, Bill and Tarak don’t know of our Titan Trapper, which suggests he might’ve split off from the group long ago. But since they all served the Collector, well; That implies the Titan Trapper did so as well. And Titan Trapper, Witch Hunter... Both are occupations about exterminating magical beings, whom the Grand Huntsman/Collector has employed in this regard.

Philip was able to create these strange flesh monsters, and he’s the only one we’ve seen do so, even if it IS possible by regular glyphs; And we know the Titan Trapper created Jean-Luc. So they probably learned this from the Collector, or this spell is meant to thematically connect them at the very least.

Then there’s these damning shots... But also;

Was the Titan Trapper a particular pawn of the Collector whom he chose to personally interact with, like Belos; A personal playmate of sorts??? We don’t know how many of those disks there are... Belos has one for the isles, and Bill has his own; Maybe there’s a third? How are these things made? Was it destroyed? Or hidden somewhere in King’s birthplace???

Lilith says the material of the temple is nothing like she’s seen, which given she lived at Belos’ castle for a while... Unless he kept that tower of his off-limits, that implies King’s temple and Belos’ tower are of different material. Then there’s the interior of the Titan’s skull, which shares a similar architecture to the temple, and of which Philip’s Collector disk was found.

Was the temple made from the Titan’s skull material??? And Lilith doesn’t recognize that because the skull is sacred ground that she didn’t visit until after Echoes of the Past... Or before, time travel and all that. Philip describes this place as the lair of the Collector, but everything points to the Collector and the Titan being at odds with one another; Why would the Collector have such a special place in his head?

And I’m not sure if the Collector made this place, given the implication he was trapped when the Titan died... Did the Titan Trapper make it? And did he choose to trap the Collector, instead of a Titan; Perhaps a parallel to Wittebro and his clone Hunter, made to be a Witch Hunter who will instead likely hunt his uncle, who actually deserves that!

Bill said it takes the power of a Titan to hatch one... And we see how a shard of a finger bone holds that power; So bone taken from the skull would operate on that same principle, right? I’m starting to think the Titan Trapper built this place in order to hatch King, and counted on the power of the moon and this strange form of glyph magic to aid the incubation process.

And he made Jean-Luc to protect King... Why? Does he actually care for King? Or did he just do it to keep him alive, the same way one has a dog look after cattle meant for the slaughter? So maybe the Titan Trapper didn’t betray the Collector... Even if he did, it had to have been after he killed the Titan, unless he and the Titan planned some gambit where the latter would sacrifice himself to trap the Collector.

We know the moon and those strange glyphs were used to hatch King; As a lunar-themed entity, the Collector must’ve taught the Titan Trapper all of this stuff, familiar with how magic is inherent to the cosmos. I’ve talked about the solar system glyph combo before, so did the Collector come from space and teach this to the Titan Trapper? Maybe used his own power to hasten the incubation for King... All to hasten his own freedom. King is a lamb raised for the slaughter... And as for the Titan Trapper, what happened to him? We know he’s older than the isles.

Bill dismisses Belos’ reign, but it’s only been fifty years... Does he mean he’s older than Belos or just his tenure as Emperor? Can the Collector bestow eternal life to his subjects? Were all Titan Trappers blessed this way? Or was it just OUR Titan Trapper... Additionally, Bill and Tarak allude to their society having never met a live Titan before.

Was this tradition actually started by the Titan Trapper, as the first to take this mantle; And then the Collector lied to Bill and the others, set them up to believe their heritage was that of Titan Trappers, in order to mimic his last pawn? What did the Collector tell THE Titan Trapper to get him on their side? And what happened to him... Did he hide the island, and then build a lair for himself (and the Collector sort of) in the skull, where he hid his Collector disk?

Did he die of old age? Killed by some random factor? Did he choose to forsake the Collector, or did he leave the disk there for another pawn to continue his work; AKA Philip! If the Titan Trapper killed our Titan... Why isn’t the Collector free, if this sacrifice is necessary? Did they fail to make a connection to the Titan before it died? Did the Titan interfere, and/or the Titan Trapper? Did our Titan trap the Collector at the moment of its death, or was he being slain to free the Collector, imprisoned by another or even this same Titan, beforehand?

To put into chronology... Millennia ago, the Collector was killing Titans for reasons. They enlisted a witch to help them do so, but ended up trapped in another realm. They created at least two disks, which each acted as a conduit to commune with the Collector, but also free him via a ritual involving a Titan’s death. The Titan Trapper managed to kill the Boiling Isles Titan who fought to defend his unborn child; He might’ve had something to do with the Collector being imprisoned.

Not only that, but the Titan Trapper laid claim over the egg his victim had been guarding. He planned to hatch it but needed the power of the Titan and had just killed one; So he harvested some material from its skull, since Titan bones contain their power. While inside the skull he also created a lair to store his Collector disk, and set up a Stonesleeper as guard; Keep in mind they were around during the early Hecktaceous period, and the Titan Trapper was the one who started the isles; He’s older.

From the Titan’s skull bone, he carves a hidden temple to incubate the egg, using the power of the moon and a strange glyph system taught to him by the Collector to aid in this. As another form of magic taught to him, the Titan Trapper created Jean-Luc, to look after the egg; Should it hatch, Jean-Luc keeps the baby safe until his creator comes by. Then at some point he dies, and Philip continues his work when he finds the disk he left behind...

Given how Belos didn’t know of King’s island (and neither did the Collector apparently), I think this points to the Titan Collector having betrayed his master. Maybe he failed to contact him about his progress, but that seems like a long time since he built all that stuff. Anyhow, while the Collector waits, he does manipulate a separate set of witches on the other side of the planet, using his other disk...

Through Bill and/or a predecessor(s), the Collector does some historical revisionism. Just as Belos tells witches they’re actually meant to be coven bound, the Grand Huntsman tells them that they’re all Titan Trappers. This clan is to the original Titan Trapper, what Hunter is to Belos; An unwitting heir to a duty of magical extermination, of which he doesn’t know the actual truth and history behind.

There was no familial lineage so to speak; Nobody from that clan has ever hunted a Titan, not even their ancestors, just as Hunter had no ancestors who practiced wild magic and were killed for it. The Collector and/or his agents just lied about it to shape society into following a murderous destiny/heritage that doesn’t exist and that they weren’t actually a part of. The Titan Trapper died and possibly betrayed the Collector to imprison him... But Belos is repeating history by picking up where he left off; It’s the Collector’s same plan and pawns, just different fonts, Moon and Sun as two parts of the same eclipse.

#the owl house #speculation #philip wittebane #emperor belos #the owl house collector #Titan trappers #theory #boiling isles titan #king clawthorne #the owl house jean luc

221 notes · View notes

bean-of-the-sky · 3 years

Text

Stupid Things

After kissing Luz, Amity decides to have a moment of reflection, but someone decided to pay her a visit. Sometimes, it is best to reflect, together.

Amity Blight was laying on a grassy hill, feeling the gentle sway of the stems caress her hands, facing down on the dew. There were clouds in the sky - lazy clouds, really, grazing the endless blue that seemed to stretch for ages. She’d discovered the hill the other day, while on a walk home after a long shift - it was a desolated area, with no people, or attractions; it was a hill with a beautiful view, of the Boiling Isles and more. She knew that if she ever decided to come before sunrise, or sunset, the visuals would be breathtaking. One day, she told herself, she’d see the the sky darken and light up.

She came here to unwind, to think - she needed time to think because of her actions last night, which replayed in her head like unwanted music. What had she done and what was she thinking? Kissing Luz’s cheek, out of the blue, must’ve caught her off-guard. She hadn’t made an effort to communicate with the girl since then, avoiding her as much as possible.

“Ugh,” she murmured, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Stupid, stupid, she’s probably uncomfortable around me now - I should’ve thought my decision through more,” she said to herself, but that was it, wasn’t it?

She wasn’t thinking, she never did whenever Luz was near, or involved in any way, shape, or form. She made her do stupid things, acting before thinking - it was unlike her, but she liked it. Luz’s arrival had sparked something inside of her, changed her for the better, and she was still growing. Luz was good and Luz was light.

Blushing, Amity sighed and laid her arm down, gazing at the clouds again. She wanted to be a cloud and fly away, far from the hole she’d dug herself into, only then would she be granted peace of mind.

“Room for one more?”

Amity didn’t think it was possible for her cheeks to be hotter, redder, but there she was. Slowly, she urged herself to sit upright, and look beside her. Of course, it was Luz, who had found her. The blue of the sky was like a halo, enveloping Luz in a brilliant shade.

“Oh,” Amity said, “um, sure!”

With a bright smile, Luz cushioned herself on the dewy grass, next to Amity. She extended her legs, pushed them forward, and allowed her shoe-clad feet to sway from side, to side. She was humming something, a tune Amity didn’t recognize, but one that she found herself liking. It was probably from the Human Realm - she genuinely wanted to visit, and explore the world that had gifted her Luz.

A wonderful gift, she was.

“So,” Luz started, drawing out the word.

“So,” Amity parroted, diverting her eyes and fidgeting with her tunic.

“You, uh… look pretty today, Amity. Como una princesa,” Luz giggled, a small smile - soft in its nature - coating her lips, like a rainbow appearing after a sudden storm. She leaned closer, a hand cupping the side of her lips, whispering, “That means like a princess! I really like the purple, it’s beautiful on you.”

Amity was smiling, pushing the dyed strands behind her ears. “Thank you, my mother hasn’t seen it yet, so it’ll be nightmare getting through that,” she breathed, dreading the eventual confrontation. She was tired of her mother making every choice for her - she had a right over her own body and wanted to rebel, but a small part of her cowered, knowing she would be punished.

Amulet or no amulet, her mother was still her parental figure. Sometimes, during the quieter days, she’d fantasize about running away to the Human Realm, with Luz.

“How did you find me?” Amity asked, arching an eyebrow.

Luz moved her hand backwards, toward her neck, and rubbed the skin there, chuckling, “Well, I’ve sort of been looking for you, and just thought: what would Amity do, if she was trying to hide? And, boom! I found this place, and I found you,” she announced, throwing her hands up.

Amity nodded and looked down, saying, “You know me well. It’s sweet.”

“Oh, well, you know - I really like you, so… I do my best,” Luz mumbled, pulling her hoodie up, and attempting to hide her blush. Amity noticed it was reaching her ears, so circular and soft, she found them endearing.

“I like you too, Luz,” Amity said, feeling her heartbeat quicken, swiftly. She groaned internally, hoping to have an interaction that wouldn’t end in embarrassment for once.

Luz let out a breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly asking, “In what way? Sorry if I’m being annoying, I was just a little confused. You said that I made you do stupid things, and so did I, but I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure what you meant by it. But then, you kissed me - was that romantic, or did you mean something else by it? I thought you were crushing on someone else, because of Grom, and your note —“

“Luz,” Amity softly said, a small giggle nestling itself into her voice. “I… like you, the same - the same way Azura likes Hecate,” she explained, pausing and reaching for the words that seemed correct. “I’ve liked you for a while now. You’re a wonderful person, Luz, and you found your way into my heart faster than I was able to realize.” She shook her head, finding herself amazed at how she fell for Luz, despite supposedly hating her, through the duration of their first encounter.

“Amity,” Luz murmured, her eyes widening, sparkling.

“I like everything about you,” Amity continued, “from your eyes and smile, to the way you stand up for others, and dance when you’re excited. I like your voice, and your laugh, and how you inspire me to be a better person every day.” She tucked a purple strand away, swallowing, thickly.

“I like you a lot, Luz Noceda.” Amity concluded, bringing her hands to her chest, and wringing them like a towel. Was that a lot?

Luz was quiet, her gaze exploring Amity’s face. “Oh, wow,” she breathed, her eyes shimmering with tears suddenly, “I-I never thought that… y-you’d -“ Luz cleared her throat, glancing at the grass, blinking quickly, almost rhythmically.

“Luz?” Amity was worried, her eyebrows scrunching.

“I’m - I’m okay, I just… never thought you’d like me. I mean, you’re so beautiful and magical and incredible, like a dream come true.” Luz opened her arms and pulled Amity into her embrace, into a warmth never known to Amity until her, until now.

Surprised, Amity recovered and melted into her touch, nuzzling into her shoulder, breathing in her scent. It was like lemons and flowers and goodness.

Whispering, Luz said, “I like you too, Amity Blight, more than you know,” she started to lean backwards and gently picked a flower from the grass. Observing it, she gave a smile and looked up. Softly, she pinned it behind Amity’s ear, taking a moment to gaze at her, in quiet admiration.

“I’m pretty lucky,” Luz said, combing a hand through her hair, sorting out the dark locks, thick in texture.

“No, Luz, I’m the lucky one,” Amity told her, gently leaning her forehead against Luz’s.

Luz had a stunned expression, like silent surprise. Her eyes softened and she smiled and it was a smile Amity had never seen on her before. Soft, vulnerable, and intimate - she knew she wanted to protect her, shield her from all the evil in the world, because Luz was light.

Luz was her light, really.

#the owl house #toh #toh spoilers #toh fanfic #through the looking glass ruins #amity blight #luz noceda #lumity #my writing #I just had to write something because my head is filled with gay #gay thoughts and gay lumity

49 notes · View notes

tardisman14 · 4 years

Text

An analysis of Amity’s feelings towards Luz

Credit to tigerwu98 of TV Tropes (who sums it up better than I probably ever could)

“When Amity first saw Luz in the abominations track, she was open to the possibility that Luz was perhaps either a troublemaker, cheater, or some other person made of negative attributes akin to Boscha or her siblings, in addition to trying to steal her spot as top student likely valued by her parents, and was all too willing to be rid of her, hence her calling in Principal Bump.

Upon meeting her again in "Covention", Amity would have been taken aback by Luz's kind nature. Though she would doubt that Luz was being genuine, as her abrasive personality did not allow Willow to do such when she was forced to sever their friendship, and likely determined that Luz was a Bitch in Sheep's Clothing like her siblings and (if she had ever put on such a facade) Boscha. In addition, her initial casual treatment of magic would have caused Amity to think Luz was mocking the idea of magic. However, Luz's openness about how much magic meant to her at the end of the episode would cause Amity to realize that Luz did take magic seriously. Even then, Amity still would consider her potentially a Bitch in Sheep's Clothing after the cheating stunt.

It wouldn't be until the library incident where Amity would realize that Luz was never a Bitch in Sheep's Clothing, with Luz attempting to apologize AND save her life, risking her own in the process. Sharing her book and revealing nothing in her diary to anyone else also helped build such bridges. In addition, using herself as bait to save Amity's siblings would have helped clear any blame of deliberately ruining Amity's wand, chances of getting into the Emperor's Coven, status as top student, and trying to read her diary, as the odds of a selfish person or bitch in sheep's clothing risking their life is minimal. By this time, Luz has not only shown Amity that she has a massive amount of courage, risking her life at least twice for others and encouraging her passion in the Good Witch Azura book series, but is also unnaturally and truly kind and loyal, even if treated poorly, an attribute that appears to be a rare, if not borderline nonexistent, on the Boiling Isles, something which Amity would aspire to become, even as far back as the library incident.

Also, as Luz is one of the truly kindest people on the show, Amity would naturally feel most comfortable around her, with her parents being abusive, her "friends" being shallow, mean people, her siblings being troublemakers who seem nice, but treat her poorly, her friendship with Willow destroyed, and not really knowing Eda and having a bad encounter with King upon first meeting, leaving the only other exceptions being her mentor Lilith and possibly some of the Hexside teachers. The lattermost options however, don't appear to be the best people she can be around, as Adults Are Useless shows in many episodes, and with the age gap.

This would lead to a strong attraction to Luz that would likely become romantic in nature, as there don't seem to be any boys her age Amity would like, such that by "The First Day", would cause her to angst about both her orientation and attraction to a human girl whom her parents likely would approve of less than Willow, as shown in the scene where Luz ends up spying on her. And Luz's friendly AND affectionate behavior (encouraging her to help fix the memories and hugging her, both of which lead to blushing) in "Understanding Willow" would end up exacerbating those feelings to the point that Amity would eventually try to ask her out. Of course, due to gayngst and fear of destroying the best friendship she's ever had (while her friendship with Willow is on it's way to healing, there are years of bitterness lingering), she would hold back. After all, asking someone to dance with them traditionally means you have strong feelings for them, which can draw someone towards you or drive them away, the latter especially if the person is of the same gender.

Also, the last time Amity performed an action heavily driven by her emotions (her friendship with Willow), ended up costing her a lot, which would cause her to fear two potential consequences of pursuing her feelings towards Luz: that Luz will reject her, out of either perhaps some VERY well hidden malice, or out of not feeling the same way, resulting in ANOTHER damaged friendship, or that her parents will find out and nix it, even possibly doing something worse than forcibly ending a friendship. And with that in mind, she knew that, if required to face Grom, her feelings for Luz risked being revealed for all to see. As such, she would have been quite willing to allow Luz to do it, as Luz had shown nothing but courage up to that point, aside from running for her life during their fight.”

154 notes · View notes

theartsynoodle · 4 years

Text

Who’s Writing the Letters to Luz’s Mom?

I will leave this all under the cut because there are MAJOR spoilers. It’s not something that any of us would ever think going off of the information given to us by the show itself.

So at the end of Enchanting Grom Fright we are shown that Luz’s mom, Camilia (I hope that’s how its spelled I looked at different sites and they spelled it differently on each of them.) has been receiving letters that she assumes are from Luz, but we know very well they aren’t. There has only been a few possible theories as to who is actually doing, but I think I have some damning proof on who is doing it. Or more like what.

So the two characters people have been saying it might be are either Eda, or Amity. There’s also the theory that maybe it’s the Emperor’s Coven/Emperor Belos doing it. We’ll get to the Emperor later, but now I just want to explain why it’s NOT Eda or Amity.

First, let’s look at the handwriting in the letters.

There are many small notable details in this handwriting that we can pick out to try and pin this to someone specific. There’s a small mix of cursive, some letters flow into the next, slashes through the o’s, swirly g’s and y’s, open bubble dots on the i’s, and the most important thing (imo) is the cross through the z. I had to zoom out to get it, but you can see the z is crossed.

This handwriting is pretty fun, playful, and distinctive. There’s a lot of little details. Now I will explain why it is not Eda.

Firstly, we have not seen any of Eda’s handwriting (correct me if I’m wrong.) Secondly, how would she know where to even send the letters? She doesn’t actually know where Luz lives, she doesn’t even know much about the human world at all. She doesn’t know what hugs are or what summer camp is, she probably has no idea the actual situation Luz is avoiding, she just knows one day she’ll have to go back. I don’t think Eda is the type of person to go behind Luz’s back like that either. So I don’t think it’s her.

Now for Amity, we actually can confirm that it isn’t her since we see her handwriting on the Grom proposal she wrote for Luz.

There are similarities do not get me wrong, but there are a few off things. Her letters are more cursive like yes, but they don’t flow together like in the letters being sent to Camilia, her i’s also have closed dots and there is no slash through the z. I don’t think it’s Amity mostly because of the handwriting, but also like Eda, she has no clue where Luz actually came from. She doesn’t know who Luz’s mom is, where she lives, I don’t even think she knows Luz will have to go back to Earth some day as it’s a conversation we haven’t heard between them. Same as Eda, I don’t think Amity would ever do this to Luz either.

Now, who could it possibly be? Well, what if I told you it’s Luz, but not our Luz. I only started to think about this when I stumbled upon an interview featuring Dana Terrace, Wendie Malick, Alex Hirsch and Sarah-Nicole Robles that was released back in March. At 11:12 in the video, Sarah-Nicole Robles says that she “Really got to improvise with Creepy Luz.” She then fumbles a little on her words before saying “You’ll see her eventually.”

Here’s the video if you want to listen to it yourself.

Now this to me, is a HUGE give away. This might’ve not meant much before Enchanting Grom Fright, but it sure does now. Let’s look at the handwriting in the letter again and some of Luz’s actual handwriting that I took from Wing it Like Witches.

It’s pretty damn close. The cursive, the open i’s, slashed through o’s , swirly g’s and y’s, and the slash through the z. Why am I so dead set on it being this Creepy Luz character? The letter is robotic sounding, it’s stilted and awkward, like it’s devoid of feeling. They misspell Luz’s name at the end, something that no one that knew Luz would do. I think that there is a clone of Luz, a much more lifeless but very physically similar version of Luz that was sent to summer camp as her replacement. Why? Because if Luz never showed up to summer camp, why didn’t Camilia get a call? Why didn’t Luz’s phone get blown up with messages asking where she was? Also, wouldn’t Camilia know her own daughter’s handwriting and seriously freak out if this note popped up and it wasn’t her kid’s handwriting? Because the camp thinks she’s there because there is a doppelgänger in her place.

Now we’re getting to the part of “Well who would send the clone?”, I think it’s the Emperor and Lilith.

The Emperor is a mysterious character, we don’t know much about him at all. We know he’s extremely powerful as he is of course the Emperor and knows how to heal Eda’s curse, something only he seems capable of doing. He also, wants Eda to join the coven, not arrested, but join the coven. He apparently has “Big plans for the Island.” and wants Eda to be a part of them according to Lillith in Wing it Like Witches. I think the Emperor’s coven sent the clone in Luz’s place so they could keep her there as bait for Eda. They saw the connection Eda has with this girl, so why not keep her on the island and use her to get to Eda? I’m sure he knows well who she is, she is a human after all. He is also the Emperor and I think he knows more about the human world than any one else in the show besides Luz. The fact that in the next episode, Agony of a Witch, the synopsis is, On a school field trip to the mysterious Emperor's Castle, Luz puts herself in danger.

They’re going to the castle and this is what Emperor Belos has been planning for the beginning. He is luring Luz to him, to take her and convince Eda to finally join him. Luz gets put in danger because we all know she is Amity’s “Fearless Champion” and challenges literally everyone that ever defies any her friends’ honor.

And while at first I thought it was the Emperor himself that would take Luz, I don’t think it’s him, I think he has someone else do his dirty work. We also see in the promo that Luz has an encounter with Lilith in the castle, which leads me to point out the secret message being spelled out in the show. (For those who don’t know, there is a secret code in the show spelling out a message. The first part of the message being from each letter from the first word of every episode title, and the second part being a coded message in a Boiling Isles language.”

It reads:

“Two Witches Torn Apart Now Alone,

Two Hearts of Stone, A Curse of Feathers and Mud

A Betrayal...”

This definitely has to do with Eda’s curse and her relationship with Lilith. The newest addition being “A Betrayal...” from Wing it Like Witches, the message that needs to be decoded and is hidden on Eda’s cheat lunchbox. The one where we see Luz’s handwriting.

(Sorry I’m lazy, but its on the outside of the lunchbox, very faded, in the bottom left corner.)

This is the betrayal, Lilith takes Luz. She helped Belos send the clone since she knows more about Luz and Eda, she’s the one the takes Luz to get Eda to come to them, to join the coven. Lilith would do this, she’s frustrated with Eda. She gave her ample opportunity to join them and she has let her go too many times. It’s time for a cheap play.

That is what I think is happening with the letters, and uh, some episode plot prediction lol.

TLDR: The Emperor’s coven sent a clone of Luz, dubbed Creepy Luz, to take her place at summer camp so he can use Lilith to take the real Luz and get Eda to join the Emperor’s coven.

4 notes · View notes

torattlethestars · 7 years

Text

The Weaver of the Woods Song and Folk Music (Part 2 of 3)

The song that the Weaver of the Woods sings in acomaf is an old English folk song. In this post I’m going to look at several different versions of this song.

The version in acomaf was definitely based on a version of the Miller and the King’s daughter from a broadside in 1656, and you can read post comparing those two versions here.

This folk sing commonly called and most easily defined as The Twa Sisters, but has lots more names: The Two Sisters, The Bonnie Bows of London, Binnorie, The Miller and the King’s Daughter, Minnorie, The Cruel Sister, The Wind and Rain, The Bonny Swans, Lay the Bent to the Bonny Broom and The Berkshire Tragedy (and also some more). It was originally, as far as I can tell, an English folk song but there are versions from all around Europe, particularly Scandinavia. If you want to read versions this website has lots of older versions, as collected by Child (it’s known as Child 10) and this one has some more modern variations. I’ve also made a playlist here on Spotify if you want to listen to some versions, and found this playlist on YouTube. (There’s also this version on YouTube, not on either playlist, but it’s one of my personal favourites.)

This song has lots of different versions, as is typical for folk music, so it’s hard to draw any meaningful conclusions from any of the others but some things stay true across lots of versions and there are some interesting things in certain versions and some that are worth mentioning in the context of acotar and acomaf.

One thing that stays constant across all versions is that of the two sisters, the oldest always drowns the youngest, by pushing her into some body of water. Usually this is specified to be either the sea or a river, but sometimes it’s something else like a lake. Often, the youngest asks her oldest sister for help out of the water and then the eldest refuses.

Of the sisters, it’s always only the eldest and the youngest, even if there are other sisters. In quite a few versions there is a middle sister mentioned (and a some versions with a fourth sister, and occasionally brothers), who never does much. Usually the middle sister gets introduced early on and she is never mentioned again. The middle sister isn’t important here.

When the Eldest sister pushes in her youngest sister, if she gives a reason, it is always jealousy, normally over a suitor, but sometimes it is because the youngest sister is more beautiful. (Almost in relation to that point; the youngest sister is almost always described as fair whereas the eldest, if her appearance is described at all, is described as dark.) Often the song takes a few verses to set up that a man (sometimes a knight but it’s not always specified) is betrothed to the eldest sister but then falls in love with the youngest sister (and gives her better gifts). Sometimes he just falls in love with the younger and has no obligations to the elder.

Often at the start of the song, it is stated that the two sisters live in a bower. Bower has two meanings which would make sense here - a summer home, especially a cottage in the countryside or almost a pretty little woodland glen - a shady place under trees, possibly a shelter made of vines - pastoral and idyllic. Either way it feels kind of Spring Court-esque to me.

When the younger sister is begging for the elder’s help, usually she bribes her with money, which is sometimes jewelry but is more often her “house and land”. The elder sister usually refuses saying something meaning “I’ll have your true love and then I’ll get your house and land too because it’s really you man I’m after”.

In some versions the drowned sister’s body is mistaken for a swan on the river. This was a common folk metaphor for death in the British Isles. In a few versions it was implied that she literally became a swan.

Usually, when the youngest sister washes up she is found by a miller or by a fiddler, or occasionally by a harper, and he makes her into a musical instrument, which is usually either a harp or a fiddle. (In some older versions it’s often a viol, which is like a violin, but older and played like a cello.) There’s lots of versions where the only part of the youngest sister used is her hair (which is almost always either “long yellow hair” or “golden hair”). Her hair usually either goes to make the strings for the fiddle or the harp, but sometimes goes to make the bow hair for the fiddle (which makes a lot more sense). Her breastbone is also usually used for the body of the instrument and then her finger bones being used seems to be the next most common thing, which are usually used for tuning pegs.

Sometimes the miller (or fiddler) gets punished for what he did to the youngest sister (often he is hanged or boiled in lead). Sometimes he is punished for what he did to her body, but more commonly, he is punished for killing her. Sometimes the eldest sister is punished. When the eldest sister is punished, she is often hanged or drowned in lead too. Sometimes neither is punished or blamed.

When the younger sister has been made into a musical instrument, often the only thing it will play is the title of the song (so in the version called the Bonny Bows of London the instrument will only play a song called the Bonny Bows of London). She will only sing the story of her death. This could be true of the song that the weaver sings, because it gets cut off a little before this would happen in the song. This sometimes happens when the miller takes his instrument to the sisters’ house, so that she can expose her as a murderer.

In some versions (usually ones called the Two sisters) the instrument is not made, but the miller just robs the younger sister’s corpse. Sometimes the younger sister is still alive when the miller finds her. The younger sister will bribe the miller with her jewelry, and he helps her out of the water, steals her jewels/rings and pushes her back in again.

In a few versions there is a bit of a theme of rosemary. Rosemary in flower symbolism is usually representative of marriage (with love and fidelity) and improving memory.

Now, I’m going to look at some refrains, from a few different versions. All the versions I’ve encountered of this song (with the exception of the one from acomaf) have a refrain, and it feels a little odd ,and definitely deliberate, that the one in acomaf doesn’t have one.

The first refrain I’m going to look at is this one: line A “Hey with the gay and the grandeur O” line B “At the bonnie bows of London town”. Again with the first line - the gay comes from a time before gay meant homosexual, but happy - so this is saying with happy and dramatic excess. And we don’t know anybody in this series who might be a little over-dramatic, do we? Sarcasm

Then we have a more uncommon refrain: line A “Oleander yolling” line B “Down by the waters rolling”. Oleander is a pretty looking flower, often found in gardens but is extremely poisonous (like, it can kill you, poisonous). (Yoll is an old word that means to yell.) This could make for a good metaphor for Feyre in Spring - pretty looking but deadly, or the spring court in general, like the roses metaphor. It could also be Elain, with her plants and she could end up having something to do with the poison. So many people could be a metaphorical poison.

Then there’s the refrain: “The swan she does swim bonnie O”. Knowing that the swan is a Celtic metaphor for death, we can assume that either the dead sister will live again (maybe this refers to someone who was/will be made) or that we’re going to think that someone has dies when they haven’t really.

And remembering the rosemary themes, we have the refrain “the jury hangs over the rosemary”, meaning more or less that the rosemary is undecided. Using this as symbolic for marriage, we can look at this one as if the wedding is undecided, possibly the one between Feyre and Tamlin and the decision to remain loyal to him, but also maybe not. They certainly took a while to decide if she should marry after that first attempt (it was postponed) and Feyre spent even longer to decide that she didn’t need to keep loving Tamlin. The jury could also be symbolic of memories, and deciding how much they’re worth, or false memories.

The last refrain I’m going to look at is this one: line A “Bow and balance me” line A//line B “I’ll stay true to my love//If my love will be true to me”. This one just feels very Feyre to me. The “bow and balance me” is almost symbolic of her power and Rhys. She is High Lady, and is going to need at least the Court of Nightmare to literally bow to her, but it might be more symbolic of getting people to respect that she is a High Lady. Cough cough Tamlin. The “balance me” bit could be to do with Feyre and Rhys being equals, and therefore each other’s balances - “Equals in every way”. Maybe something will happen and Feyre or Rhys will need the other to bring them back into equilibrium. This could also apply to any other set of mates too. Then there’s the “I’ll stay true to my love//If my love will be true to me” bit of this refrain. Although true here probably means faithful, I’m not going to use it like that. I’m going to use true more like seeing the other and in love. While Feyre thought Tamlin was trying to do his best for her and was in love with her and saw who she was and all that jazz, she stayed in love with him. Once she realised what he was doing to her wasn’t right, she let go of that love for him.

The third part of this series of posts is now up (which you can read it here if you want) looks at what this could mean for acowar.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #weaver of the woods #meta #theories #ish #i'm getting there #eventually #my post

24 notes · View notes

thatboomerkid · 7 years

Text

The Shattered Fields & Twisted Stones of Khyledonia

The Shattered Fields & Twisted Stones of Khyledonia -- Pathfinder Campaign Add-On

Brought to you absolutely free to play, to test & to share, as always, by the fine folks of my Patreon.

In ages now lost, the decadent & magically-gifted nation of Khyledonia was a mighty seat of power: lording over the most valuable trade-routes of Avistan, feared across the Inner Sea, bowing to none.

Called by many the Heirs of Thassilon and the Eaters of Lost Devils, this proud old empire of madness-mages, city-prophets and spirit-binding cavaliers considered itself a northern cousin to the latter-day wonders of Jalmeray, Shory and Nex; along the snowy steppes, deep forests and ash-strewn ivory boulevards of the Khyledonian Empire, untold mystical wonders stolen from across ravaged universes are said to have been weighed, exchanged & sacrificed within an incomprehensible, sparking engine of blackest sorcery not seen since.

All too little is known about the culture there, however ... for the country of Khyledonia has long-since been utterly erased, swallowed-whole by purest chaos and retroactively boiled-away from the dusty recordings or remembrances of any lucid reality which we might comprehend.

Only a few scraps remain, half-faded from existence, appearing amongst the memories and collections of sages like dark fever-dreams. What little knowledge may be gleaned details a bizarre & Byzantine warrior-culture which thrilled to the exhibition of grotesque blood-sport in star-painted ziggurat arenas, intertwined deeply with the worship of Azathoth; we comprehend only the vaguest details about a deformed peasant-class ruled-over by immortal dukes, a society marked by the construction of vast cross-planar gateways ... and ultimately doomed to destruction by insane experimentation into the folding of eternity’s very soul.

Few can doubt that our world was left a far better -- and saner -- place for the loss of this aberrant and diseased shard of realty, and for the disappearance of those unclean secrets hidden there. Yet it seems, as the grim Age of Lost Omens wears on, that the too-thin borders separating Khyledonia from Golarion have begun to shred-apart once more.

The Fractured Arrival of Khyledonia:

Each month of in-game time, there is a 1% cumulative chance (but see The Infectious Memories of Khyledonia, below) that Khyledonia will, without warning, suddenly “resurface” from the deepest Maelstrom in order to become coterminous once-more with the continent from-which is was long ago most-brutally sundered. During this time, creatures and objects may pass over the borders normally; after the strange nation of Khyledonia has existed in-conjunction with Golarion in this way for a period of one full month, the entire country -- and all within its borders -- vanishes back into the farthest Outer Sphere with a mountain-shattering, mind-rending clap of multicolored thunder as the percentage resets.

original image from here

Khyledonia always arrives to our reality immediately adjacent to (1d6+1) countries, over-writing the natural borders of the world in bizarre ways (see below). These countries are [Roll 1d100]:

1-4: Andoran

5-8: The Hold of Belkzen

9-12: Brevoy

13-16: Cheliax

17-20: Druma

21-24: The Five Kings Mountains

25-28: Galt

29-32: Hermea

33-36: Irrisen

37-40: Isger

41-44: Kyonin

45-48: Lastwall

49-52: The Lands of the Linnorm Kings

53-56: Mendev

57-60: Molthune

61-64: Nidal

65-68: Nirmathas

69-72: Numeria

73-76: Razmiran

77-80: The Realm of the Mammoth Lords

81-84: The River Kingdoms

85-88: Taldor

89-92: Ustalav

93-96: Varisia

97-100: The Worldwound

Note: Khyledonia has never once, in all of recorded history, appeared directly adjacent to Absalom; most scholars believe that the Isle of Kortos contains within it some measure of warding again incursion by such a threat. This protection is little-understood, however, and thus is far from guaranteed ... especially as the universe slips further and further with each passing day into entropy & madness.

It is possible, of course, that a given country might be selected (above) more than once; in such an instance, that nation borders Khyledonia from multiple angles simultaneously: roll one additional time (below) to select which precise borders the countries now share. It is also possible, although remarkably unlikely, that a nation might find itself sharing all four of its borders with Khyledonia, becoming effectively “landlocked” entirely within that sea of churning psychosis. There is no way out of the border-bound country, in such an instance, although travelers and other creatures might still find themselves wandering in.

larger, higher-resolution map here

For each country selected in this way (above), Roll 1d6 -- 1: North, 2: South, 3: East, 4: West, 5-6: roll 1d4 twice, applying both results -- to determine which border of each country Khyledonia arrives adjacent-to.

Thus, if you rolled a final result of:

[3]; 34, 66, 75; 1, 4, 5 (3, 4)

... the nation of Khyledonia would arrive in a geographically-impossible position simultaneously:

north of Irrisen (overlapping the Winterwall Glacier),

to the west of Nirmathas (both cutting-off the Bloodsworn Vale from access to Varisia and severing all passes through the Mindspin Mountains into Nidal), and

both east & west of Razmiran (devouring the coastline of Lake Encarthan and placing the city of Thronestep upon the treacherous borderlands directly between those two nations, while also arriving to the east and appearing “over” the River Kingdoms at Tymon).

For those on the opposite side of such a warped border, outside of the directly-adjacent lands, the way is clear and unimpeded: if you were traveling from Varisia to Nirmathas via the Bloodsworn Vale, for example, you would arrive without difficulty; similarly, if you were at-sail on the waters of Lake Encarthan in route to Xer -- or crossing the West Sellen from Tymon into the lands of Razmir -- you could make landing as per normal, encountering no delay.

Upon looking back, however, you would see Khyledonia itself.

image from here

Into the Depraved Lands:

The interior geography of Khyledonia is still little-understood: creatures who enter rarely return alive or intact, and those few who do are often driven far past the brink of sanity into something like religious terror.

The land itself, however, can be categorized by merest observation as highly morphic, suffused throughout with the most dangerous kind of wild magic (routinely augmented by sharp-edged results common to a rod of wonder ... or something even stranger); those who gaze upon the border may literally bear witness to mountains of glass & bone boiling or evaporating, to be replaced in mere moments by towering oceans ringed with thrashing forests of brick-fused squid.

Immediately upon viewing the nation of Khyledonia, any creature with an Intelligence score understands -- in some way -- exactly what it is that she is presented with: the grotesque, inhuman cosmos laid-bare.

Note: This is a free “fair escape” mechanic that prevents creatures from accidentally wandering into Khyledonia. Unlike the whimsical First World -- with its subtle passageways meant to ensnare fools, children, drunks, animals and careless travelers -- the Khyledonian Empire is less-than-subtle in its weird menace.

If you are being pursued east from Urgir by an orcish horde, for example, intent on fleeing across the border to Vigil or Gallowspire with ill-gotten gains, the orcs will NOT (under any circumstances) chase you over the border if the neighboring country has been -- observably -- replaced with Khyledonia.

Willingly entering the nation of Khyledonia is the sort of insane & suicidal act that only PCs (and a handful of desperate, named NPCs) would ever even consider.

For more on encounters & adventures to be had there, see Symphonies of Strange Flesh (currently under-construction).

original image from here

The Infectious Memories of Khyledonia:

During those blessed months & years when the Khyledonian Empire is totally out-of-sync with Golarion proper, it is “unmemorable”: that is, any previously-acquired knowledge of the nation -- or of its history -- simply fails to click: gibberish flows off of the tip of your tongue like poisonous oil, unnoticed by any, then slips away utterly from the consciousness of any creature present a mere moment later.

Sure, there’s an entire multi-street sub-district of Absalom constructed in the architectural style of the Khyledonian Empire, and nearly an eighth of all the root-words in Taldane share some trace derivation from the alien and inhuman language spoken there. What of it? The backwoods “Sons of Khyledon” are but a long-collapsed, mostly-forgotten state, no more interesting -- and no more relevant to the hard-&-fast matters of today’s crises -- than the ancient Jistka Imperium.

When the nation of Khyledonia returns, however, eerie memories come flooding back to those historians who lay eyes upon it.

For each rank that a creature possesses in Knowledge (history), that creature may choose (see The Choice, below) to roll once on the following table immediately upon gazing over the border at Khyledonia. If a specific piece of knowledge is ever gained a second time, select the next closest bit of information. These grains of knowledge are retained even after the nation vanishes once more.

NOTE: The first grain of knowledge is this: “All living memories of Khyledonia are dangerous, and beckon it forth.”

This single fact is free, and does not increase the percentage chance of Khyledonia‘s return.

Infectious Memories (roll d12):

Khyledonia, despite its appearance and ties to the Maelstrom, is not a chaotic-aligned realm; in fact, many of its most-fearsome occupants are coldly, efficiently remorseless in their ongoing plans.

The nation of Khyledonia was not sundered from Golarion during the Age of Legend, during the Age of Destiny or even in the Age of Glory, as some suspect. In fact, it happened only moments ago.

Amongst the seventeen duchies of Khyledonia, the largest (and north-most) is ruled by a most powerful warlord called Chuss the Ancient, a many-eyed warrior known to mate with white dragons.

Amongst the seventeen duchies of Khyledonia, the richest (and south-most) is ruled by an advanced psychoplasmic behir who keeps a living, mind-locked garden of all those he conquers.

The people of Khyledonia routinely feed on hybridized troll-blooded animals, bred for size and taste. A common delicacy involves slicing-off slabs of meat even as the beast still lives.

Khyledonia employs huge swaths of magical technology stolen from Numeria, including a slave-race of androids (employed as skilled labor) mutilated so that they may never pass for human.

Hive creatures are prevalent, including cults which perform routine human sacrifices to their “gods”; the Imperial Autocracy officially forbids this practice, but fields the creatures in times of war.

“Knights of Khyledonia” are questing antipaladins (usually of Azathoth, minimum level 11th); most of them famously use Fiendish Boon (summon monster VI) to call-forth chaos beast steeds. These hulking terrors often adventure abroad, leaving Khyledonia to spread destruction & anarchy in the wider world.

Although marked by floating castles and wondrous technological marvels (including 1920s-era telephones), the basic society of Khyledonia is primitive, still using Stone Age sanitation techniques.

There are three other Ascended, making a total of seven. All three are direct godlike rulers of their own duchies in Khyledonia, each one acting through an intermediary: a 20th-level mythic oracle.

Khyledonia can be navigated from within, and used as a “secret passage” between non-coterminous locations. This requires an hourly Wisdom check (DC 16) to avoid becoming lost, but a direct route to any real-world border can be found within 5d8 hours.

GM’s discretion; one random & bizarre piece of information, made up on the spot, that retroactively becomes canon.

The following themes, just to get your mind going, are appropriate for fact about Khyledonia: broken dolls, blurry photographs, Biblical names, faces seen in static, the sound of laughter from empty places, chiming bells, sterile burn-wards, dead cellphones, unwholesome insects, cold water dripping in a forgotten basement, moving shadows in reflection, colorful animal masks, rotting seafood, children’s shoes.

The Choice: For each grain of knowledge about Khyledonia that is acquired in this way by a PC -- or by an “on-screen” NPC -- the base percentage chance of Khyledonia returning at the end of any month permanently increases by +5%.

If you gain any knowledge of Khyledonia in this way, you also gain a supernatural scent ability, but only with respect to sentient creatures who have also gained knowledge of Khyledonia in this way.

If a creature has more total knowledge about Khyledonia that you, that creature possesses a strong scent; if a creature instead possesses twice the total number of facts that you possess, that creature has an overwhelming scent.

If you ever have line of effect to a creature who possesses a scent of this type and are within 60 ft. of them, you are also considered to have blindsight for that creature.

Until all knowledge of Khyledonia has been totally erased, the nation will continue to return ... and with increasing frequency.

Using Khyledonia:

“So ... this is cool and all, but how do I use this in my game?”

Khyledonia is weird, and your players can’t know everything about it: there’s no book or website out there with all the mysteries already spoiled. Wanna scare your “seen-it-all” PCs? Make their precious maps useless ... or take them off-the-map entirely!

Khyledonia fits directly into an ongoing campaign and then slots right back out when you’re done using it. You can even adapt the random countries-list, above, to fit with any other continent on any other fantasy (on urban fantasy!) world.

Khyledonia can be used to “lock-off” a part of your world. You don’t want your PCs going to [fill-in-the-blank country]? Oops, it looks like Khyledonia is in the way. Try again next month! Oh, you’re chasing a guy? He ran into Khyledonia ... shucks, better try to pick up his trail on the other side of the continent!

Khyledonia is a perfect source of truly bizarre monsters. If you’re looking to use Sir Aalamure Ye-Saviith, Knight of the Mirror-Serpent, Rides-on-Storms-and-Whirlwinds or Mr. Gug -- but don’t want them as your center-stage Voldemort, Godzilla or Terminator! -- you can make any one of them a “questing knight” who has to be back in Khyledonia before the end of the month.

Khyledonia can let you use weird “splinter canon”: bizarre history that normally requires a new setting but still fits into Golarion: do you want a clan of asexual Babylonian/Aztec dwarves who serve Shub-Niggurath, dress like Galactus and carry the bones of their honored dead on their backs like mausoleum-armor? Awesome, those are now the official Khyledonian dwarves.

Above all, Khyledonia can be all of the things you love about Ravenloft mixed with all the things you love about Heavy Metal ... without any of the baggage or negative associations involved with either.

———

NOTE:

This website uses trademarks and/or copyrights owned by Paizo Inc., which are used under Paizo’s Community Use Policy. We are expressly prohibited from charging you to use or access this content. This website is not published, endorsed, or specifically approved by Paizo Inc. For more information about Paizo’s Community Use Policy, please visit paizo.com/communityuse. For more information about Paizo Inc. and Paizo products, please visit paizo.com.

#pathfinder #mythos #campaign #essay #GM Advice #mind screw #horror

244 notes · View notes

ravishankarsivasubramaniam · 4 years

Text

Marmalade: A Very British Obsession

Olivia Potts | Longreads | July 2020 | 15 minutes (4,161 words)

The dark wood-panelled dining room is quiet, heavy with concentration. Around the room, six pairs of judges sit at tables crowded with glass jars. As the light catches the jars they glow amber, saffron, primrose. The only real sounds are the murmurs as the pairs of judges consult, and the regular pop! of sterilized jars as they open. Occasionally, there is the tap of a pen against glass, signifying that a gold medal has been awarded, followed by quiet applause or cheers depending on how sugar-drunk the judges are.

This is the judging room of the World’s Original Marmalade Awards, an annual event in Penrith, England, in the English Lake District. I’m here because I’m obsessed with marmalade. Not with making or eating it — although I enjoy both — but the enigma it represents. I suppose I’m obsessed with those obsessed with it: what is the appeal? Marmalade is made from a sour, bitter fruit that doesn’t grow in the UK; a fruit that requires days of preparation to render remotely edible. And yet, marmalade holds a central role in British life and British culture. It appears in the diaries of Samuel Pepys; James Bond and Paddington Bear eat it. Officers that served in British wars received jars of marmalade to remind them of their home country. Captain Scott took jars to the Antarctic with him, and Edmund Hillary took one up Everest. Marmalade is part of our national myth. I want to know why.

***

Marmalade in Britain is overwhelmingly made from citrus aurantium, the bitter orange grown in the Spanish city of Seville. This city produces over 4 million kilos of the orange a year, almost entirely for export to Britain for the marmalade market. How on earth did that happen?

James Bond and Paddington Bear eat it. Officers that served in British wars received jars of marmalade to remind them of their home country. Captain Scott took jars to the Antarctic with him, and Edmund Hillary took one up Everest. Marmalade is part of our national myth. I want to know why.

Some would have you believe that marmalade was born in a vacuum. That, like Post-it notes or penicillin, it was invented all of a sudden, brought about by a confluence of unlikely factors. The story goes like this: it was a dark and stormy night. The rain fell in torrents, and a Spanish cargo ship was forced to take an unscheduled dock in Dundee, though it could as well have been anywhere; any port in a storm. Its cargo: oranges. A Dundee grocer, James Keiller, rashly buys up the whole load of them. He quickly discovers these oranges aren’t sweet and fleshy, but face-puckering sour and bitter, more pip than fruit. His mother, Janet, in an attempt to produce something, boils them up with tons of sugar. And so, marmalade was born.

The truth, I’m afraid, is rather more prosaic. We know that Seville orange marmalade in Britain predates this charming tale: there are British recipes for conserves of Seville oranges as far back as the 1587 A Book of Cookrye, and a marmalade very much like the one we eat today appears in a recipe book by Eliza Cholmondeley published around 1677. The Keiller family probably were the first to produce Seville orange marmalade on a commercial scale, but the Spanish ship story was and is just good PR. It is likely, according to C. Anne Wilson’s The Book of Marmalade, that the cargo ship would only have been carrying large quantities of Seville oranges because there was a ready market for them in Scotland, and that Janet Keiller would not have needed to invent a recipe for the orange marmalade, as many were in circulation by that point in England and Scotland. The expansion of the railways came at just the right time for the Keillers, and when Queen Victoria took a shine to the stuff, it quickly became fashionable in London. Once commercial production was underway, marmalade became a celebrated British export, perfect for overseas trade, able to travel long distances preserved by its sugar content, and capable of withstanding extremes of temperature.

In any event, marmalade was also made with other things long before it was made with the Seville orange. Early marmalades were often made from quince, and closely resembled what we now call membrillo: a thick paste that could be moulded and would hold its shape. A recipe from 1587 reads “stir it till it be thick or stiff that your stick will stand upright of itself.” Like membrillo, this marmalade was eaten after dinner, alongside sweetmeats, and as a digestion aid (one thing the Scottish did do in the nineteenth century was move marmalade from dinner to the breakfast table). It was a luxury item, sometimes flavored with prized ambergris, rose, and musk. It was given as gifts as a show of generosity and riches: Henry VIII received “one box of marmalade” from Hull of Exeter in 1524.

Quinces also gave marmalade its name: the world comes from the Portuguese name for the fruit, marmelo. Indeed, early port records tell us that marmalade first arrived in the UK from Portugal, though our appetite for the stuff meant it was soon coming from Spain and Italy too. It didn’t take long for English travellers to discover the recipe — a happy occurrence, since quinces grow very well on our temperate isle. We were, for a short time at least, an independent marmalade-making nation, until we got a taste for the foreign bitter orange.

Kickstart your weekend reading by getting the week’s best Longreads delivered to your inbox every Friday afternoon.

Only in English does marmalade connote a citrus-based preserve containing peel. In Greek (marmelada), French (marmalade), and Italian (marmellata), the word just means “jam,” with the fruit added afterward to distinguish. Thus marmellata di arance is orange jam: sweet, pulpy. Only marmellata di arance amare is what the English think of as marmalade. And it’s not just Romance languages: marmelad in Swedish, Marmelade in German, and marmelade in Danish, all generic terms for any fruit cooked in sugar. The British clearly think of marmalade differently from the rest of the world.

***

There are many ways to make marmalade. Some boil the fruit whole; others prefer to cut the peel first. The merits of pressure-cooking are fiercely debated. But broadly speaking, marmalade is made by separating the citrus fruit into its different components — pips, peel, pith, juice — and boiling, before adding sugar and boiling again. Generally, the pith, pips, and flesh are tied up in a muslin bag. The peel is sliced into equal sized strips or chips. The muslin bag and peel are left to soak overnight in the water. The following day, the peel is cooked until tender. Sugar is added, along with any reserved juice, and heated gently until it dissolves, before the heat is ratcheted up to bring the mixture to a rolling boil. In 10-15 minutes, the mixture should have reached 105°C/220°F — jam temperature — meaning that it will set once cool. If you make it with Seville oranges, it’s something of a nose-to-tail preserve: the pips and the pith contain enough natural pectin, a gelling agent, to set the marmalade without additional ingredients. Nothing is wasted. In theory, it’s a straightforward process; in practice it is riddled with possible unforced errors. You can overboil it, underboil it, add too much acid, add too little acid; you can burn the syrup in the same batch you undercook the peel. You can pot too hot, you can pot too cool. Over the years, my husband, Sam, has encountered every one of them.

It was Sam who properly brought marmalade into my life. He was late for one of our early dates because he was waiting for his marmalade to set. He arrived, clutching a sticky, still-warm jar of Seville orange marmalade, in lieu of flowers. Back then, I didn’t even really eat marmalade. I certainly would never have countenanced making my own. Why would anyone bother? Was he aware that you can buy it in the supermarket? I was a criminal barrister, and the point in my life where I would ditch criminal law in favor of retraining in pâtisserie was still years in the future.

It was Sam who properly brought marmalade into my life. He was late for one of our early dates because he was waiting for his marmalade to set.

But Sam came from a long line of marmalade lovers and marmalade makers. In marmalade season — in the UK, Seville oranges are only available for a few brief weeks from the end of December to mid-February — it’s all his family talks about, with long WhatsApp threads devoted to techniques, yields, sets. Sam was a good cook, but not an especially enthusiastic one: he cooked simple, functional meals. But marmalade was different. Marmalade making was, for him, non-negotiable. Even if we had shelves packed full of the previous years’ labors, when January rolled around, more must be made.

(It’s not just Sam and his family who are fanatics. So devoted are the marmalade makers of the UK that it’s possible to buy canned, prepared Seville orange peel and pulp, “Ma Made,” the marmalade equivalent of a cake mix box — just in case you get that marmalade-making hankering outside of season.)

For the first few years of our relationship, this was something I simply endured. Love the man, love his marmalade. As I got into cooking, I tried to make my own a few times, with varying success, but never quite caught the bug. (Besides which, we had an awful lot to get through. Even a small batch is a lot of marmalade for two people.) It all seemed so unpredictable; some years, whole batches had to be reboiled as Sam muttered darkly about it being a “low-pectin year.”

Once you’re hooked, of course, this is all part of the appeal. Lucy Deedes is a veteran of both the homemade and artisan classes of the World’s Original Marmalade Awards, scoring three gold medals in the artisan. “You have to get things right at the right time. I’ve never made jam because it’s not much of a challenge. Marmalade only has three ingredients, but every batch is different, and sometimes it just doesn’t turn out.”

In other words: the tricky, maddening nature of marmalade is precisely why people love making it. It’s a bit like sourdough: if you’re going to get into it, you have to really get into it. Even then, failure lurks around every corner — but so does the possibility of improvement. That’s irresistible to a certain sort of person; marmalade attracts the obsessive. Helena Atlee, author of The Land Where Lemons Grow puts it more bluntly. “Marmalade attracts bigots. They believe in one true product made from the sour oranges the British call Sevilles, and coming most probably from a steamy Scottish kitchen in Dundee.”

For the first few years of our relationship, this was something I simply endured. Love the man, love his marmalade.

I want to meet some of these obsessives, and understand the hold that marmalade has over so many. And I think I know where to find them: the World’s Original Marmalade Awards.

***

I arrived at Dalemain, where the awards are held, against the odds, having battled Storm Ciara to make it to the flooded and snowbound Lake District. At that point, I was fairly sure that extreme weather conditions would be the biggest challenge the awards would face this year. How much February Olivia had to learn. I first spoke to Jane Hasell-McCosh, who is the founder of the awards over the phone, asking if I could interview her and perhaps a couple of the judges for this piece. ‘“We can do one better than that,” she told me. “Would you like to help us judge?”

I agreed on the spot, but afterward, I began to worry that I didn’t know enough about marmalade for the gig. Thanks to Sam, I eat it far more than I used to, and would tend to choose it over jam. But is that enough? Well, it was too late for that. On my way up to the judging, I braced myself for the marmalade obsessives of which Helena Atlee writes — if not bigots, then at least fundamentalists. I was ready to be told there is only one true way to make and enjoy marmalade, and that any deviation from it is an aberration and, possibly, a perversion.

Dalemain is astonishing. The main frontage is Georgian, built in 1744, with the old hall dating far further back to the 12th century. It has been in the family for over 300 years. Although from the outside the house looks like a National Trust property, when you step inside you immediately realize it is a family home. Laundry hangs in the huge stone kitchen, dogs weave between legs, and back copies of Vogue spill out from under a table in the hallway. On the walls, portraits of distant ancestors mingle with recent family photos. In one of the guest rooms, a bed gifted by Queen Anne still resides. (The mattress, I am told, has been changed.)

The awards began as a one-off. Fifteen years ago, rural Britain was still struggling after being decimated four years earlier by the outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease, a highly infectious disease which affects cows and other cloven-footed animals, and generally requires widespread culling of livestock. Jane wanted to do something to bring her local community together, something cheering. There was never any plan for it to become a regular event.

The fact that it did is perhaps down to Jane’s formidable organizational nouse, though I believe her when she tells me how much the growth and success of the event took her by surprise. That first year, around 60 jars were received, almost exclusively from local competitors. This year, there are more than 3,000 entrants from 40 countries around the world, plus spin-off festivals in Japan and Australia. During the time I spent at Dalemain, two separate production companies were filming.

After 15 years, judging has been honed to a fine art. The way it works is this: the marmalades are tasted on plastic spoons (never double-dipped), without the interference of bread, oatcakes or any other vehicle. Bath Oliver biscuits (a savory cracker) are on the table as a palate cleanser. Each entry has a scorecard and is judged on its appearance, texture and flavor, with points available for lack of smudges on the jar, color, brightness, peel distribution, jar filled to the top, balance of jelly to peel, set, size of peel, texture of peel, balance of flavors, balance of acidity, length of finish, and “overall harmony.” The marmalades can receive a commended, a bronze, a silver, a gold, or nothing at all. Those which have scored top marks are then re-judged: there is a Best in Show awarded to the top homemade marmalade, and a “Double Gold” award given to a handful of the very best across the categories. The winner of the best homemade marmalade is sold in the luxury London department store, Fortnum & Mason.

After a short briefing, and armed with our spoons, we were ready to start judging.

There are more categories than you could shake a stick at: in the homemade category, as well as the standard Seville orange (which have two sub-categories), dark and chunky marmalade and “other citrus,” there are categories for children, first-timers, men, gardeners (where the predominant ingredient beyond the citrus was grown by the competitor), octogenarians, and campanologists (bell-ringers). Special categories of former years have included everything from peers, political & clergy, to hairdressers.

The range is mind-boggling: a sweet potato and coffee marmalade from Taiwan sat alongside a lime glitter marmalade, which looked like something a teenage girl would daub on her eyelids. A coconut and chocolate marmalade elicited groans when it was plucked from a crate, followed by raised eyebrows and “not bad!”s once actually tasted. I tasted fruits I’ve never even heard of, let alone tried: daidai (the Japanese equivalent of the Seville orange, bitter, pocked, and pithy), tachibana (a wild mandarin found in Southern Taiwan and Japan), kawachi bankan (a Japanese pomelo), and tangelo (a sweet tangy orange that tastes, to me at least, like jelly beans).

It is no coincidence that some of the most striking and delicious citrus fruits previously unknown to me come from Japan, and that the Japanese tend to enjoy particular success at the awards. Marmalade is big news in Japan, despite the absence of Seville oranges. Two years ago, Seiko and Yoriko Ninomiya, Japanese marmalade makers, received a double-gold award for their marmalade, a yuzu and ginger and, suspended in the jelly, tiny yuzu peel stars. They came to marmalade as a hobby after they retired from careers in the airline industry. They have been involved in the inaugural Japanese Marmalade Awards, which are held at Yawatahama, where the citrus groves tumble down the hills to the ocean. This year, they have come to the Lake District to help judge the World awards.

I was told by more seasoned judges that when I tasted a full mark, gold marmalade, I would know immediately. And they were right. I was the first person to try one of the marmalades that ultimately won the Double Gold International Marmalade award in the artisan category, and it was stop-you-in-your-tracks good. It too was a Japanese marmalade, made from the endangered tachibana fruit, which tastes like a Seville orange crossed with a mandarin — but it’s not just the flavor that set it apart. This was a reduced sugar marmalade, which often results in a loose, syrupy set, but here was a set so perfect that many full-sugar marmalades fail to achieve; crystal clear, wibbly jelly; identical, perfectly cooked peel was suspended throughout the jar. How could a marmalade be so clever? I wanted to ring everyone I know and tell them about this stuff.

…here was a set so perfect that many full-sugar marmalades fail to achieve; crystal clear, wibbly jelly; identical, perfectly cooked peel was suspended throughout the jar. How could a marmalade be so clever?

***

It’s hard to comprehend when you’re sitting in the stone kitchen of Dalemain, but marmalade’s appeal is not what it once was. Thane Prince, a British cookery writer, preserves specialist and judge of The Big Allotment Challenge, tells me that British tastes and customs have moved on. “It’s old-fashioned. I think the appeal was that it was exotic. A luxury product, and these things always have caché. But now it’s just old-fashioned. And people don’t have breakfast in the same way.” During the height of marmalade’s popularity, a cooked “Full English” breakfast, accompanied by toast and marmalade was standard. But Britain’s marmalade consumption has been in decline since the 1960s. Perhaps establishing marmalade as a breakfast food was actually sealing its fate. We have less time for breakfast now; we pick something up on the go, from a coffee shop. More and more of us avoid sugar, or carbs in general. None of this bodes well for marmalade’s future.

Its bitterness probably doesn’t help, either. We are programmed to dislike bitterness, as Jennifer McLagan explains in her book Bitter: A Taste of the World’s Most Dangerous Flavor. In nature, bitterness often suggests something poisonous, which is why babies screw up their faces at bitter tastes. As we age, we lose taste buds, and learn to like bitter things: coffee, cigarettes, Campari, dark chocolate. But each is a struggle. And with marmalade, many of us seemingly never get off the ground, plumping instead for jam, or peanut butter. It is certainly true that peanut butter and chocolate spread are gaining ground in the share of the spreads market, where marmalade resides. Marmalade sales were in steady decline from 2013.

Even in decline, though, marmalade has sway in the supermarkets because of its status as a basket item: one that shoppers use to judge where to shop. As such, it is a common loss leader, meaning retailers sell it at a rock-bottom price to get people through their doors. At the time of writing, a one-pound jar of marmalade can be had for as little as 27p (34¢), an impossible price on which to make a profit.

But, the tide may be turning. The 2017 release of Paddington 2 — which involved a set piece showing Paddington making marmalade in prison — increased marmalade sales by 3 percent in the UK after a steady four-year decline, according to supermarket data collected by research firm Kantar. It’s fitting, perhaps, that Britain’s distinctly un-British national preserve might be saved by a bear from darkest Peru.

***

I didn’t get the conclusion I expected to when I began researching marmalade. I thought my marmalade journey would end with the festival that accompanies the World’s Original Marmalade Awards: a festival festooned in orange and oranges which celebrates this absurd tradition, as well as the people who perpetuate it. In a normal year, there are classes and presentations, tastings and exhibitions, a church service, all devoted to marmalade. Even the sheep go orange: 50 were dyed in readiness for this year’s festival (it was supposed to be fewer but Jane tells me they “got carried away.”) At the judging in Dalemain in February, the excitement for the festival was palpable. But of course, it was not to be: COVID-19 swept in far more comprehensively and destructively than Storm Ciara. A festival that attracts hundreds of international visitors and involves repeated tastings was off the table long before we went into lockdown.

Even as a peripheral player in the awards, it was deflating. But then I came home and made marmalade.

***

I am standing in my kitchen in London in front of a large pan full of orange jelly, trying to put all the advice and tips that I was given over my four days in Dalemain into practice. I need to make sure the peel is fully cooked before adding the sugar. I need to avoid squeezing the muslin bag so the jelly doesn’t become cloudy. Despite my best efforts, I turn my back for one second (OK, two minutes) to wash out my jars for sterilizing, and turn back to find that the marmalade has whooshed up and spilled all over my hobs in a big sticky puddle. I soldier on, undeterred. Fifteen sticky minutes later, my marmalade is approaching the magic 105ºC. I deploy the wrinkle test — twice, just to be sure — which involves cooling a spoonful of the mixture on a frozen plate, to see if it forms a skin which wrinkles. I leave the marmalade a few minutes before potting, determined not to make the classic “potting too hot” error (which introduces tiny air bubbles into the finished product). And, although no one but me or Sam will ever see this batch, I make sure each jar is filled right to the top.

I stand back and admire my five-and-a-half jars and… I get it. Of course I do. How could I not? My jelly isn’t quite crystal clear, but it is basketball orange, bright and glowing. I dropped saffron strands into a couple of the jars, stirring last minute, and they hang, suspended in the jelly, perfect threads. It may not be award-winning, but it is the best I have ever made. It really does feel like I’ve potted sunshine, a moment in time.

It really does feel like I’ve potted sunshine, a moment in time.

British food writer Diana Henry describes preserving as “holding onto a season, a particular mood” — she calls it “one of the most poetic branches of cooking.” I love this idea. Simone de Beauvoir felt similarly. “The housewife has caught duration in the snare of sugar, she has enclosed life in jars.” There are few fruits for which this is more true than the Seville orange, which you can find in the shops for a handful of weeks; the ability to pot and revisit that season six months down the line is its own breed of kitchen magic. Each jar tells the story of both the season and the maker. When I spoke to fellow judge Will Torrent about the nature of the marmalade awards, he found that this emotional quality seeped into the judging as well as making of the marmalade. ‘There will be a story that has led to that marmalade maker entering at that point. Food awards can sometimes become very serious. It becomes very technical, and yes there is a technical element to this, but at the same time — and I think this is the way I judge — it’s, ‘How does it make me feel?’ And it brings such joy, and it rubs off on everyone else.”

But right now, since global lockdown, it’s more than that. There is something inherently optimistic about preservation, about putting something away for your future. You are saying, “I will be here in a year’s time, and so will this marmalade.” Making marmalade is a lot of effort, and by that token, it is a commitment. Marmalade is a tether to your own future, it’s a savings account. It is shoring yourself up against the instability and uncertainty of life. You do not make marmalade without a small optimism, a hope of orange-colored happiness in your future.

Marmalade is something stable in an uncertain world. It has survived plagues and wars, fires and uprisings. I know that the marmalade I make today will still be there tomorrow. It doesn’t actually need a festival — it doesn’t even need supermarket sales. Marmalade has staying power. That is surely why the British love marmalade so much: because tomorrow everything will be different, but marmalade will be the same.

***

Olivia Potts’ bio goes here.

***

Fact checker: Julie Schwietert Collazo

Editor: Krista Stevens

#Longreads #Food #Ravishankar Sivasubramaniam #Olivia Potts

0 notes

sepublic · 4 years

Text

What constitutes a ‘Demon’?

There’s been some discussion amongst this fanbase about what exactly a ‘demon’ is. We know they come in a wide variety of shapes and forms, and we know that demons are evidently capable of full sapience (but not all of them are).

From what we know thanks to King, our not very preeminent scholar on the matter, demons are “grim tricksters of the twilight, creatures of sulfur and bone,” that they “live only to create chaos and misery”, and all have a weakness to purified water (and passive-aggressive comments).

What purified water exactly is in the context of this show, I’m not sure and it might not even be elaborated upon, but it’s fun to think about! So perhaps ‘demon’ refers to any creatures with a weakness to purified water. While King’s account should admittedly be taken with a grain of salt, considering how inaccurate he was with the Snaggleback (or not, since according to @anistarrose we may have simply encountered a juvenile and not a full adult), what his words seem to imply is that demons are nocturnal, are said to cause chaos, and are made of sulfur and bone. That last bit intrigues me the most- Humans already have sulfur in our body, so that implies that demons have a particularly high ratio. That, or witches simply have little to no sulfur in their bodies, seeing as how humans aren’t from the Demon Realm and wouldn’t be included in that context.

But what about magic? I’m of the assumption that demons can’t do magic, and perhaps that’s what differentiates them from witches. However, in Covention, two witches from the Bakers Coven try to invite King, which seems useless since we know he doesn’t have a magic bile sac.

And how do we know? In Episode 8, Eda is in King’s body and attempts to cast magic while trapped at the Kitty Cafe. Eda is an incredibly skilled and experienced witch, so she’s never had an issue with the skill of casting magic, and even if King had an incredibly diminutive sac that hasn’t fully developed, it should’ve yielded at least some kind of spell. Eda states that she’s “no longer a witch” indicating she knows King isn’t, and Roselle and Dottie agree.

However, if one considers the theories about King having once been the King of Demons, and even the Boiling Isles Titan, then... he could be a one-of-a-kind person. Meaning, there’s no one like him, so no one actually knows his true capabilities and nature. However, King is certain that he was the King of Demons, so for now, let’s just say he is one.

So why would those two Baker Witches be interested in King joining, if he can’t do magic? Perhaps they don’t realize he’s not a Witch because they’ve never seen anyone else like him. Maybe it’s just a throwaway gag/joke that I’m taking too seriously. Perhaps non-witches have some value to covens as testers and voluntary subjects. Amity says the Covention is only for witches, did those two bakers just assume King was a witch because he was there? We see this guy at the Covention;

And he looks a lot like this demon;

But it’s highly likely he’s just there as a placeholder background character.

Could a demon perform magic if you transplanted a magic bile sac to their heart? If so, would ‘demon’ more specifically refer to beings who are born without magic, but still capable of it later on down the line? Eda seems to be under the impression that Luz can’t ever gain a bile sac, so presumably neither can demons, but maybe there’s a difference between human and demon anatomy to be considered.

The line blurs when we acknowledge Adegast, AKA that one-off minor villain who died in his debut. Eda calls him a puppeteer, specifically a “demon who specializes in scamming and manipulating people.” Adegast is a demon, but he can also conjure powerful illusions. Do these illusions count as magic- Specifically, illusion magic? When we first meet ‘him’ in his wizard illusion, he briefly summons two spell circles, but is that actual magic or just an illusion that looks like magic (versus actual magic that creates an illusion)? Perhaps Adegast’s illusions technically aren’t magic, at least not magic as the Boiling Isles defines it (presumably something to deal with a bile sac). If he were an Illusion Witch, why is he in the Potions business? Is it like Willow, where she was placed into a track she wasn’t good at?

We see Adegast create an illusion by spraying Luz with a cloud of smoke, and when his puppets are destroyed, they dissipate into smoke, so perhaps that’s what they all are; Just smoke and mirrors, minus the mirrors. So because Adegast’s illusions don’t come from bile, it’s not magic, ergo he’s not a witch and this lends further credence to the ‘Demons are those who can’t do magic’ theory. On another note, we see Adegast revert to a smaller ‘true’ form after being wounded by Luz... is this form the result of magic, or just an illusion or the effects of a potion?

(If his illusions don’t come from magic and he can’t perform it, then Adegast probably shouldn’t have entered the Potions business when Potion magic is such a big deal that there’s a designated major coven for it. Even if he got Eda out of the way, he’s competing with literally every other Potion Witch in the Boiling Isles, and they have the advantage of magic! Maybe he uses his illusions to make his potions seem more potent than they are, who knows? This lends to the unpleasant image of him spiking potions with his illusionary gas, but this show has always been pretty horrifying, so.)

Hooty is referred to by the Demon Hunters as a ‘house demon’. There’s the possibility that Hooty was made by Eda, since her owl constructs resemble him so much, and Hooty mentions Eda teaching him everything he knows. However, the Demon Hunters also mention removing Hooty from the house, when he IS the house... Perhaps this is a case of characters not fully understanding who they’re interacting with? We do see living alarm bells at Hexside and the Covention center, and a doorknob that tries to eat Luz in Episode 2. Could the term demon also apply to living fixtures who are made for a purpose?

If demons also refers to living beings who are made, I assume Abominations don’t count as demons because they don’t eat and thus aren’t living, which would explain that distinction.

Is that why Eda calls the Bat Queen a demon, since palismans are living beings who are made? However, we don’t know if Eda is aware of the Bat Queen’s palisman nature or not, so her being a demon could just be an assumption on Eda’s part. Palismans also presumably have magical abilities (and we see the Bat Queen appear to use a spell to bind Willow and Gus). So, CAN Demons perform magic, or is there a misconception here?

There’s also the possibility that ‘demon’ is just a catch-all term. An othering term, meant to describe anything that isn’t a witch. Only... witches come in a wide variety of appearances, some more inhuman than the rest. Are witches all the same species, and thus able to procreate with one another (and thus a demon is a being a witch couldn’t reproduce with)? Do all witches, amongst their bile sacs, share a common DNA or ancestry? Are they all the same species, merely different in appearance because that’s just the way they work, or because of magic causing changes? Or does it just refer to non-humanoids?

Maybe ‘demon’ is just a societal definition, and a loose one at that. Maybe it DOES refer to animals and beasts, but because of social biases, some characters are called demons when they’re not? Beast-keeping is a term, but Demon-keeping isn’t, as far as we know. Getting into further speculation, could ‘demon’ refer to the original inhabitants of the Boiling Isles? Could witches have come from another land beyond the bones of the titan? Are demons the creatures born directly of the titan’s flesh, or perhaps the parasites that inhabited its body? The descendants of its equivalent to gut bacteria and white blood cells? The Boiling Isles is located within the Demon Realm, which could imply they’re progenitors of some sorts. Of course, maybe demon also has multiple definitions as well.

Overall, here are my proposed ideas for what defines a ‘demon’ in the Boiling Isles;

-Not capable of magic due to lacking a bile sac

-The indigenous population of the Boiling Isles

-Wildlife in general, as well as those linked to beasts or like them

-A social term for those perceived as more animalistic, regardless of such an observation has actual scientific accuracy or not. Perhaps the social aspect of the term is also for beings who aren’t immediately identifiable, don’t belong to a specific species, are one-of-a-kind, etc. AKA it’s the Boiling Isles equivalent to the term ‘cryptid’

-Non-humanoids

-Those vulnerable to purified water, with a presumably high concentration of sulfur making up their anatomy

-Anything living that isn’t a ‘witch’, specifically the species (this applies to living constructs as well, presumably, though if it extends to Palismans is unknown)

-An unknown, perhaps yet-to-be introduced factor

-A term with various definitions and meanings depending on the context

-Some combination of the above-mentioned ideas

What do you guys think? It is worth noting that King refers to demons as “creatures like me,” which implies perhaps some shared genealogy/something objective and physical, not just societal, but who knows? Perhaps the most important question to ask is;

Am I overthinking things?

#the owl house #owl house #speculation #demons #analysis

43 notes · View notes