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Mothit's Storytime

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Mothit's Storytime

by Moth King of Moths » March 21, 2017 10:10 PM

Last Edited: March 14, 2019 11:49 AM

Welcome one and all to Moth's Storytime, where once and awhile Moth sits down with the Kith and reads them a chapter from a Tattered Weave Book. We welcome all Kith to come and join Moth on the reading carpet, located in a secluded corner of Campus Supplies. We'll be reading all ranges of titles, from fiction to non-fiction, and maybe even include some fancy Enchanted forest books, who knows?

If you have a book request, you can leave one in the donation box (send me a trade) and I'll put it on the list. We're hoping to get around to one chapter a week, but Moth has a lot to do, so we can only promise, at the least, one chapter per month.
(you're allowed to donate books that have already been read if you want another chapter to be told)

Because all chapters are linked back to the op it's fine to post commentary on this thread. We also encourage pictures of kith to join the story time circle. If you encourage your kith to spend some time with us, they might get a special mention during a chapter.

Books: (they changed the site structure so actually most of these links dont work anymore IM SORRY they're all still there, I promise)

The Rose
Chapter 6
Chapter 8
Nursery Rhymes
Humpty Dumpty
The Strawman
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Housekeeping With Animals
Section 8: Birds
Classical Mythology
Chapter 7 Section 7, Norse Mythos: The Death of a Son
Chapter 10 Section 1, Aztec Mythos: the Five Suns
Maybe it's Magic
Single Chapter
The First Cut
Single Chapter
Horoscope Monthly
July 2017 Edition
The Sorcerer's Nephew
Chapter 2: Chance Encounters of the Third Kind
Scientific Observation Journal by Lycus
The Adventures of Dr. Stuffy Chapter 1
Literary Analysis
First Aid
Heart of Ice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Cursed Paw
Chapter 1
The Naming of Rats
Dating with Dragons
Chapter 1

Upcoming Book:

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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Moth King of Moths » March 21, 2017 10:11 PM

Last Edited: August 22, 2018 05:45 PM

Donations: Fiskers decorated the box c: (Erly drew the flowers, but he doesn't want me to tell you that)
All donations will eventually be read at some point. We accept repeat donations if someone wants a chapter of a book we've already started reading sooner than later. (please take into consideration that moth writes up these himself thank you)

Donated by Miranda
Donated by Miranda
Donated by Maripo
Donated by Himochi
Donated by Himochi
Donated by Himochi
Donated by Elfy
Donated by Himochi
Donated by Quinineer
Donated by Quinineer
Donated by 1412
Donated by 1412
Donated by 1412

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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Moth King of Moths » March 22, 2017 02:22 PM

First Story:
The Rose

Chapter 6

The third challenge had taken its toll on everyone. It took two hours for each to shower off all the pudding in their hair, and dress their wounds. Maalik in particular had spent an egregiously long time, probably scraping the extra feathers out of his waist-length hair. Yu and Waheeda had both needed to dress their wounds, and Phyllis had pulled Tzeital aside to ask her to mend his pants, which now had a huge hole in them from the rocks.

By the end of the night, the idea of a meeting, let alone dinner, was draining, so they all settled on sandwiches and left for their respective rooms, agreeing to leave their conspiracy chat for the next night, after they were given the day off to lick their wounds.
The next night, everyone was sitting around the dining room table at the agreed time. Waheeda and Tzeital had spent an hour or two making dinner tonight, as was their turn, and it was laid out in bowls in the center of the table, along with Isra’s carefully penned itinerary. Like all nightly meetings, they were looking over the facts to see if they could all figure out who the Rose Giver was, and what their next competition would entail. It was important enough that everyone had showed up on time, even Maalik. Everyone except…

“Where’s Phyllis?” Yu asked, glancing at the empty seat to the left of the table. If this meeting was about discussing the recent happenings going on in the house, one of them being late was certainly suspicious.

“I haven’t seen him since this morning.” Isra pointed out. Chatter filtered through the room as others assented that they too hadn’t seen Phyllis all day.

“Maybe this is the next challenge?” Maalik offered, once again pushing his fingers through his long, black hair.

“What kind of challenge is that?” Waheeda is already getting out of their seat, only pushed down by Yu’s annoyed hand.

“It doesn’t seem in line with the other challenges to hunt down a missing housemate.” Yu agrees, though she seems reasonably begrudged by the fact.

“That could mean he’s in trouble right?” Tzeitel’s soft voice rings from the corner of the table, where she’s been hunched over and hiding.

Maalik shrugs, playing with the braid in his hair, disinterested. “Phyllis can take care of himself.” He argues, though nothing about his statement sounds like he cares.

Isra sighs, pressing their fingers into their temple as if chasing off a headache. “This is getting us nowhere. We’ll go look for Phyllis, then continue this meeting. Is everyone okay with that?” Them being the only one who seemed to want to take charge, everyone quietly agrees and pairs off to go look for Phyllis.

Waheeda and Yu chatter back and forth as both leave the room. Maalik sighs and pushes himself up to his feet, grabbing Tzeital’s arm and dragging her out the room with him. Isra is left alone at the table, staring at the papers they had carefully laid out for this meeting. They were never going to find the Rose Giver at this rate. If things kept up this way, no one would win.

Left alone to search, Isra heads in the directions the others didn’t. Since Maalik was going north, that would be towards the stairs, so Isra assumes they’re searching the second floor. Yu and Waheeda had head for the kitchen, so they’d be covering the first floor. Isra decided to look in the basement.

The finished basement of the house was hardly used by anyone other than Tzeital or Isra, mostly because all it had to offer was poor insulation and a quiet atmosphere. Tzeital liked to hide in the cavernous rooms, but Isra used the basement to keep all their papers straight.
If someone was missing in the house, the basement was a better guess than anywhere else.

The former carpenter inched their way along the wall, searching for the light switch. Once lit, the main basement room was presented with bleak, white walls, and a large projection screen. Isra had been waiting for the screen to be used by the Challenger, maybe to present a clue or a challenge, but so far no one had even turned it on. There wasn’t even any film in the machine, or anywhere else as far as they knew. That was mystery in itself.

The couches set alone the wall had remained empty since their arrival, and stayed empty now as Isra ignored the main room and opened the door to the dark hallway that led to various closets and storage rooms. Isra had marked the ones they had already visited in bright red lipstick, but someone had gone through recently and smudged some of the scarlet notes.

Isra looks in those rooms first, but finds only supply closets filled with soap, and enough paper towels to take care of an army, not to mention a collection of cleaning liquids and floor lacquer.

The other rooms are similarly the same as when Isra last touched them. One has piles of cloth haphazardly organized along an old table, various thread and needles scattered around what looks suspiciously like Phyllis’s tattered pants form the day before. Tzeital had been using the room for her sewing.
At the end of the hall was the closet Isra had claimed as their own. They looked through but found their papers and only their papers, nothing out of place, no sign of Phyllis.

With a sigh, they return to the hallway, opening one of the unexplored doors. A closet filled with old jackets. The smell of mildew filled Isra’s senses and they were reminded of their stupid allergies, having to close the door rather quickly, only to stop a moment before the door shuts as something catches their eye. A grate at the back of the closet.

Before they can think about it, though, the sound of Yu’s voice shouts from the main floor.

“We found him!”

Isra shakes off their thoughts and leaves the basement, finding Yu, Waheeda, and Phyllis standing at the top of the stairs, wait for them.

“Phyllis?” Isra looks over the bearded man. His hair is messy and his clothes are rumpled, but he looks reasonably fine. For a moment, Isra finds it mildly insulting that they all got so worried over nothing.

“Sorry, I fell asleep under the couch.” He apologises with a grin, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.
“Well we were all worried about you, idiot.” Yu chides, swatting him on the arm.

Maalik and Tzeital appear from upstairs, Tzeital smiling softly when she sees Phyllis is okay, whilst Maalik just shrugs without comment.

“We can continue the meeting now.” Isra decides, and everyone agrees wordlessly, returning to the dining room where their dinner is now cold.

They all go to take their seats when Waheeda gasps, pointing at Tzeital’s seat.

Upon the cushion is a bright, red rose.
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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Moth King of Moths » March 25, 2017 12:45 PM

Nursery Rhymes (Book donated by Miranda)

Humpty Dumpty

HUMPTY-DUMPTY sate on a wall,
Humpti-dumpti had a great fall ;
Threescore men and threescore more,
Cannot place Humpty-dumpty as he was before.

Taken from Gammer Gurton's Garland: Or The Nursery Parnassus by Joseph Ritson (1810)

The origins of the famous egg-rhyme are something of a mystery. The first printed appearance of the rhyme was in Gammer Gurton’ Garland: Or The Nursery Parnassus, published in 1810. An earlier appearance of the rhyme is rumoured to have appeared in Juvenile Amusements by Samuel Arnold, and the rhyme also appeared in a manuscript of Mother Goose’s Melody (1803).

Though it is widely excepted that the character of Humpty Dumpty is an egg, the rhyme itself does not clue into this what so ever. So, how did Humpty Dumpty become an egg?

Looking at the origin of the term Humpty Dumpty reveals (by way of the Oxford English Dictionary) that the term first referred to a type of ale-boiled brandy. Similarly, it was also a colloquial term during the 1700s for a clumsy or inebriated man. Since neither of these things are related to eggs, we can assume the use of the term is referring to clumsiness.

‘What, if it were to fall off a wall, could not be put back together?’ What is now known as a narrative poem was actually a riddle, with the answer being ‘an egg’. Somewhere between the 1800s and the 1900s, the rhyme became so well known that it stopped being a riddle.
The character’s inclusion in Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There concludes that by the books publishing in 1871, it was decided that the character of Humpty Dumpty was a sentient egg. Whether the sentience of the egg was decided by Carroll remains to be seen. In his chapter, Humpty Dumpty explains to Alice the idea of portmanteau, a linguistics theory first coined by Lewis Carroll himself, most famously used in his poem ‘The Jabberwocky’. The idea of portmanteau is to combine words. As explained by Carroll in the introduction to his narrative poem “The Hunting of the Snark” (1876) “Humpty Dumpty's theory, of two meanings packed into one word like a portmanteau, seems to me the right explanation for all. For instance, take the two words "fuming" and "furious." Make up your mind that you will say both words, but leave it unsettled which you will say first … if you have the rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say "frumious."”

As explained by Humpty in Through the Looking Glass: ““When I use a word,” (…) “it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.”” This same idea can be applied to nursery rhymes themselves. Often times we look at these rhymes and try to find a general, sensible reasoning to them, when there really is none. The meaning behind the words is quite obvious though.

As the school teacher who mocks her own poetry teachings, ‘it is up for interpretation, and there is no right answer, let me tell you the right answer’, let us be complete and utter hypocrites, and continue on with our thorough, chapter by chapter dissection of famous nursery rhymes!
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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Moth King of Moths » March 29, 2017 11:23 PM

The Strawman

Chapter 1

“Now dad’s not very good at remembering things these days.”
Millie gazes out the window at the passing trees, mottled oranges and red among the decaying of autumn, grunting non-committally at her aunt’s lecture.

“He might forget where he is once and awhile. Just don’t let him wander off the property or nothin’.” The teenager showed no sign of interest. Her aunt scoffs. “You gonna listen’ to me child? Your grandfather’s in charge of you for the next few months, but don’t you think for a second I won’t drop my plans in flash if I hear you let him get in trouble.” She snaps, looking away from the road to glare at her niece.

“Isn’t he supposed to be taking care of me?” Millie glances at the woman, raising an eyebrow.

“In the loosest sense of the word.” Her aunt mutters, glaring sharply before turning back to the road. The trees have melted away to fields of yellowing grass, which turn to wheat and corn stalks as the car drives further and further away from civilization.
“You keep up with your studies while you’re here, too. I packed all those papers your teachers sent me, and I expect them all to be completed when I come to pick you up in the winter.” Her aunt continues her lecture with a speech on educational merit, and Millie lets her mind wander.

Why she couldn’t just go to the school in town, she had no idea. The bus had to come out this far, right? Not that she cares, but it’s better than sitting around in an old barn all day.

She glares contemptuously at the wheat fields in the rear-view mirror, as if it was there fault she was being dumped here like an unloved pet whilst her aunt travelled off to New York. Honestly, she wasn’t complaining too much. She was used to being carted off to relative after relative, watching as each one turned her away. She’d been with her aunt the longest, though how she was Millie’s aunt she had no idea. Her parents had never talked about their families, and it’s not like her aunt was volunteering information now.

The car slowed down as they turned onto a dirt road. Corn fields build up around them, surrounding the property, going so far that she couldn’t see their end over the horizon. And in the middle of it all was a farmhouse. The house of a grandfather Millie hadn’t even known existed until a few weeks ago.
The car came to a halt in front of the door, and Milie and her aunt exited. Millie started pulling bags out of the trunk, taking the time to stare at the house.

It was old, that much was obvious, and patched up in more places than she thought should be safe. The white paint was cracked and torn in various placed, slowly peeling off Hinges were broken, but the roof had all tis shingles, and all the windows looked intact and clean.

Out the main door, green and scratched up, Millie saw a man older than the house. His skin dark and shrivelled, eyes paler than naturally, a milky whiteness to them. He stood tall, though, broad shouldered, hunched and favouring his right foot. He smiles at Millie.

“You must be Miller. Aren’t you grown now…Well, time does fly, doesn’t it?” He says in a deep, gruff voice, though his words are kind and full of humour. He chuckles, reaching out a hand to the teenager. She takes it, struggling to give him a strong handshake like her father taught her. The man has a firm grip.

“And Lucy, my dear daughter.” He lets go of Millie to smile warmly at her aunt.

She sighs loudly. “It’s Lucille, dad, and I don’t have time to talk, my plane leaves soon.” The woman leans down to peck her father on the cheek before dashing to the car. Moments later she’s driving off, leaving dust and dirt behind her. Millie’s grandfather watches her leave with solemn, watery eyes.

The stand in silence as the car disappears behind the fields of corn, and the sound of its engine fades away, leaving but the soft rustle of the leaves. Millie stays in her spot, next to her bags and watching her grandfather with curiosity, and light trepidation. She doesn’t quite know what to expect out of this man, never quite knows what to expect from anyone.

He breaks the silence with a forlorn sigh. “Well, might as well get you settled. I’d offer to help carry your things, but my leg doesn’t work to well anymore, and I keep the labour for work.” Despite this, he takes the lightest bag and shuffles inside the house. Millie watches for a moment, dumbfounded, before grabbing her bags and following after him.

The house creaks under their footsteps as they enter it. The lights are off, and because her grandfather makes no move to turn them on, Millie doesn’t turn them on either. By the light of the window’s she’s lead up a staircase to an empty room.

The walls are bare. The bed is an uncovered mattress, no pillow. There’s no other furniture. The window doesn’t even have a curtain. The room is clean, though, not a speck of dust that Millie can see. The window’s been opened to let the air in, but it still feels dry, standing in this empty room.

“This would’ve been your mother’s room, had she been here.” Her grandfather says, setting her bag down on the mattress. “I’d set you up in Lucy’s old room, but I gave it to the cat, and she doesn’t like to share.”

As if on cue, a small creature comes scurrying out from under the bed and darts out the door. Millie jumps out of the way, craning her head to watch the tabby cat run away.

“I’ll let you get settled.” Her grandfather either didn’t notice the cat, or is just not swayed by her antics. “I’m not much of a cook, but I suppose I should make something for you tonight…I’ll uh, call you down when dinner’s ready.” He says nothing, and Millie says nothing, and in the silence he leaves.

Alone, the room seems much more empty. Millie wanders over to the barren bed and stares at the blank walls. Her grandfather’s comment about her mother had been casual, but the weight of it sat heavy on her shoulders. What did he mean, her mother had never been here before? What had happened between her mother and this family? Why had they kept this room empty, all these years?

A glance at the open window shows the sun just starting its descent in the sky. Millie decides to leave her unpacking for later, she needs some air.

Three hours in a car had left her legs feeling fuzzy, but a walk down the dirt road stretched them out enough that her thoughts could wander. The corn fields moved with the breeze, causing her to second guess her ears more than once as she walked, convincing herself someone was behind her. That was preposterous, of course. Why would anyone else be out here?

Some ten minutes of walking later, she stopped at the fence that separated the road form the stalks of corn. Climbing up on it, she takes a seat, staring at the orange blazed sky. The corn rows went on and on, more corn than she had ever seen before. She wondered who maintained it all. It certainly couldn’t be her grandfather, with his lame leg and cloudy eyes. How could he possibly take care of all this corn by himself.

Her thoughts were roused by the loud caw of a bird, somewhere close by. Turning her head, she sees no more than a dozen crows gathered on the fence, all staring at her. A whole murder. A shiver crawls up her skin, colder than the autumn wind. The beedy, black eyes of the murder of crows stared at her, calculating.

Millie slowly climbs off the fence, taking slow steps back away from the birds. One step. Two. Three. Backing up, so her eyes remain on them, she makes her way several strides back towards the house. With a loud caw, one of the birds takes off, and then she’s spinning on heel and running, sprinting down the dirt road with the loud cawing of the murder behind her, the audible flapping of two dozen wings gaining on her back.

The girl had never been so scared in her life. She’d never had to deal with birds chasing her; never had to run out of fear. The hard pound of her feet on the road were nothing but a thrumming mantra keeping in time with her race heart.
Gotta run, gotta run, gotta-

The ground came to face her, and it’s a moment later before she realises she is skidding across the dirt on her front, tripping and toppling.

Disoriented, it takes a moment for her to remember the crows though the stinging pain all over her body. No time to run now, she covers her head with her arms, closing her eyes so tight she sees spots as she readies for the incoming attack.

…But it never came.

Hesitantly, she opens her eyes, lifting her head to stare through her hair at the road. The crows are gone.


She gasps. How hadn’t she noticed the tall figure before? She’d been down these roads twice now, watched the corn as she walked along the dirt path. The road went only one way, right? She remembers no turns, just corn. How hadn’t she noticed it? There was no way… But standing in the field, not ten feet away from her, hangs a scarecrow.
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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Umbralumen » March 30, 2017 01:07 AM

: ) Great writing!
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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Moth King of Moths » April 05, 2017 03:59 PM

Housekeeping With Animals (donated by Sefria)

Section 8: Birds

The time-honoured tradition of using birds to help with your household chores started in the early medieval period when it was discovered that pigeons and hawks could be trained to deliver messages. Scientists began to wonder what other birds could do, and conducted experiments on a number of species.
Along with learning that the common house martin was capable of knitting, and the common thieving habits of the corvid, it was discovered that songbirds were adept at performing menial labour.

Bird labour is defined by body mass to weight ratios. A bird can only carry so much before its wings begin to fail. Because of this, it is encouraged to use birds for lightweight tasks. This includes:

Sewing dresses
Folding clothes
Picking lentils out of ashes
Braiding hair

Not every bird can carry out all of these tasks. One will find that blue jays are better at organizational tasks, whilst robins are good at fine detail, and chickadees excel at multitasking. Larger birds like hawks and eagles prefer tasks in wide spaces, and will have difficulty keeping organised. Water phowl like ducks and geese are often incapable of difficult tasks unless they involve washing windows or cars.

There’s no such thing as a helpful raven. Expect them to give you a hard time, whether or not they know better. They probably do. They’re just jerks.
Despite your wish to train dove friends to fly about at various weddings and other marital ceremonies, they prefer to sort sock drawers.

If you plan to teach your bird friends to pick after themselves, you’ll have to teach them the art of sharing. Unlike we learned with deers, birds don’t find a need to give others space if they are already using it. Teaching your bird to share its possessions with other friends, such as mice or cats is the ideal way to begin your lessons.

Trying putting different seeds into one bowl and asking your feathered friend to sort them into separate bowls, which you then eat yourself. This will give your bird friend a sense of purpose.

Contrary to popular belief, birds do not respond well to ‘whistling while you work’. Because birds communicate through cadence based, high pitched ‘chirps’, whistling often confuses them when they’re trying to concentrate. If you do not speak bird, then you could be accidentally delivering contradictory orders, or making just plain, annoying chatter. Even those of the bird song fluency will want to avoid large amounts of singing, so no accent-based accidents take place.

However, birds do respond well to listening to music whilst cleaning up. Wordless music is best suggested for these situations, avoiding the lyrical confusion of vocal orders. Try playing some old-fashioned dub-step whilst you fold your clothes, or some techno, synth-based songs. Avoid woodwind instruments.

Birds are not capable of performing attention based tasks. They cannot wash their own dishes, or cook dinner for the family. Remember to delegate tasks that fit every birdies’ individual strengths.

The most important thing to do, though, is remember that these birds are your friends, and deserve thanks for their help. Provide them with seeds and a place to bird bath to ensure maximum bird happiness.
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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Moth King of Moths » May 17, 2017 09:31 PM

Last Edited: May 17, 2017 09:32 PM

Classical Mythology (Donated by Maripo)

Chapter 7.7 Norse Mythos; The Death of a Son

All of the Aesir were special in their own ways, but of all the Aesir Odin’s son Baldr was the most beloved. He was the diety of light, and beauty, the most beautiful of the Aesir, the kindest, and gentlest. One night, Baldr found himself wrought with terrible nightmares. Constant terrors that kept him up from his sleep, and had him panting awake with shivers of fear.

When Odin heard of his son’s misfortunes, he took on a disguise and rode his horse Sleipnir down below the roots of Yggdrasil to Niflheim, the most barren of realms, which held Hel.

Hel is both the name of the guard of a realm, and said realm itself. It is where the norse have said all go when they die. Hel loved Baldr just like any other aesir, so she freely gave Odin the information he sought; soon Baldr would die at his own brother’s hand, unavoidable and tragic, and after that time, Baldr would be hers. So Odin rode back to Asgard and informed his wife Frigg of the prophecy their son had dreamt.

Distraught with the idea of losing her most treasured son, Frigg set out among Yggdrasil, and visited each of the nine realms. She spoke to every substance, every rock and tree, every animal, every element. She spoke to the water, and the fire, and the air, and forced a promise upon them; nothing would harm her son. No sickness would befall him from the air, fire would not burn him, no plant would harm him, nor could a weapon be forged that would dare touch a thread of his hair. And everything agreed to this promise, for there was no one, nigh, nothing in any of the realms that wished ill harm on the gentle god.

When Frigg returned, all of Asgard took interest in how nothing could hurt Baldr. They marvelled over his new invincibility, and took turns testing it with stones and sticks. Just as Frigg said, no weapon would harm him. Every rock they threw hurt him not, every sword they clashed dared not cut his skin. He was invincible. Yet, one grew jealous of all the attention Baldr was getting. Once again, it was Loki, god of fire. He didn’t like that Baldr was treated as so fascinating just because he couldn’t be hurt. Baldr was the golden child, no one could hate him, but in that moment, Loki did.

So, Loki disguised himself as an old woman and went and spoke to Frigg, telling her how impressed he was with all her work. Then he asked if it was really every substance that could not hurt Baldr, for surely it was a difficult task, and she must have missed something. There was no reason for everything to listen. Frigg admitted that she had left one plant alone. The mistletoe she found on the side of a mountain, too young and too small to hurt anyone, nor to even understand her wish.

With glee, Loki went and found the mistletoe, hidden away in the mountains, and brought it back with him to Asgard. From that small plant he carved a sharp point, like a tiny spear. He handed it to Baldr’s own brother, the blind god Hød, who knew Baldr could be hurt by nothing, and therefore was convinced by Loki to aim the mistletoe at Baldr as if it were an arrow. Despite his blindness, he was a perfect shot.

The mistletoe pierced through Baldr’s skin and killed him.

Hel herself came to collect Baldr and bring him to her realm. All of the realms wept.

Hermód, Baldr’s other brother, rode down to Niflheim to convince Hel to let Baldr go. Because he was such a kind being, Hel agreed under the rules that everyone in all the nine realms must agree to him being let go. Alas, one old woman refused to agree, saying harsh and hateful things about Baldr. One old woman who was really Loki in disguise.

And Baldr remained dead.
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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Moth King of Moths » May 17, 2017 09:32 PM

Last Edited: May 17, 2017 09:35 PM

Classical Mythology (Donated by Maripo)

Chapter 10.1 Aztec Mythos: the Five Suns
In the beginning there was only void. Then emerged Ometeotl, the first being. They were both male and female, the god of duality, and all. From the void, Ometeotl created the world, along with the four Tezcatlipoca, who represented the four directions. In the west was the white Tezcatlipoca, Quetzacoatl, the feathered snake god of light, and wind. To the east was Xipe Totec, the red Tezcatlipoca, who stood for rebirth, spring, and smithing, and was often connected to birds. The southern Blue Tezcatlipoca was Huitzilopoctli, hummingbird god of war. At the north stood the Black Tezcatlipoca, only known as Tezcatlipoca, the true Tezacatlipoca. He was the god of strife, and discord, a jealous sort who thought only of himself.

With these gods made, Ometeotl wanted to create true life, but below the void posed a problem. Cipactl, the great crocodile, covered the world with water, threatening to eat anyone who tried to pass her. So Ometeotl created the most important deities; Tlaloc, the god of water, and Chalciuhtlicue, goddess of water. Together they cleared the waters and warded off Cipactl, to reveal the land below.

And so the first people were created, giants among the earth. Because there was only void, a sun was placed in the sky, the Black Tezcatlipoca. The first sun.

But Tezcatlipoca was too dim a sun, so he was reassigned. Angry, Tezcatlipoca killed the giants.

Quetzacoatl became the second sun. New humans were made, smaller, and imperfect. They believed they were better than the gods, so an angry Tezcatlipoca turned the haughty and arrogant beings into monkeys. Quetzacoatl, who very much liked the imperfect humans, grew angry and burned the whole Earth, including the monkey, leaving it a barren slate.

Tlaloc was made the third sun in his place. Once again new humans are made. Tezcatlipoca ruined it again, though, by kidnapping Xochiquetzal, the goddess of beauty, and fertility, and also Tlaloc’s wife. Angry, Tlaloc refused to let the sky rain, letting the world dry up. Without the rain, the land grew barren, crops could no longer grow. The humans begged for rain, prayed and sacrificed for it, though, so Tlaloc made it rain. Unfortunately, this was not water droplets to feed their crops, but waves of fire. Thus, the Earth was burned again.

So a fourth sun was assigned, Chalciuhticue. She was a loving sun, kind and gentle to her humans, but Tezcatlipoca told her her love for them was fake, and selfish. Heart broken, she cried, and cried until the whole earth was flooded with her tears, and the humans left to drown, only to be saved by Quetzacoatl and turned into fish.

Unfortunately, then a new sun had to be made, and new humans. Quetzacoatl created the new humans from bones of the god of death, Mictlantehcutil, and his own blood, making them strong and true. Huitzilopoctli was made the new sun, and here he still stands in the skies today, on the Earth we live on, the fifth Earth, the fifth humans, and the fifth sun.
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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Himochi » May 18, 2017 04:22 AM

Oh my gosh your Mothjesty, these are so good!!! :D I love them. (And we got a double update, yay! :D
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Re: Mothit's Storytime

by Umbralumen » May 22, 2017 10:55 AM

Very much enjoying the new stories : ) Thank you, Mothjesty.
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