Week 13 Story: The End of Beowulf

 A Tale from the Background

Sven stared enviously at the pile of gold in the dragon's lair. Wiglaf had just commanded all of the earls, Sven included, to trek to the lair and cart back the whole pile of gold back to the pyre.

He claimed this was penance for their cowardice in the face of the dragon's onslaught, but Sven felt he was just being practical. When a dragon comes to rend your flesh, only the heroes like Beowulf actually ran towards the beast. Sven knew his role in the world and promptly ran away as far as possible at the first sign of the dragon. 

Of course, this meant that he left Beowulf to fight the dragon alone, but so had the other thirty-odd earls! When Wiglaf arrived, Sven and the others knew the dragon would soon be roasting over their cook fires tonight. No one expected the dragon to get the lucky shot in on the legendary Beowulf and they were even more surprised to see Wiglaf hold it together long enough at the sight of his dying friend to finish off the dragon.

Following Beowulf's requests uttered from his dying breath, Wiglaf had brought a piece of the dragon's treasure for Beowulf to inspect before he died. However, that small token of the riches did not satisfy Wiglaf's devotion to his king and friend.

So, here the earls were: loading carts of gold in the lair. Sven did his part, but he also loaded an extra coin in his pocket or gem in his sock every few minutes. Wiglaf had said that whoever took a piece of the treasure would be killed for the crime, but Sven was greedy and the treasure was so large that surely no one would notice a few missing pieces. 

When he had loaded the last cart he followed it back down the muddy track to the pyre of Beowulf. He helped pour the gold and gems over the pyre alongside two other earls, Ulf and Halvar. Sven had had a long-standing feud with Halvar over many things, but they had both ran away at the sight of the dragon that morning. 

As they were about to finish unloading the final cart, Halvar turned a quizzical eye to Sven. It was just then that Sven noticed that his shirt was clinking with the sound of coins as he moved, after they had finished. A look of triumph came over Halvar's face as Sven's sank into despair. 

Quickly, Halvar called "Thief!" to Wiglaf and Sven stared in horror. Wiglaf, still bathed in dragon blood, strode over to Sven and knocked him out with one powerful blow to the jaw...

Sven awoke tied to a stake buried in the ground. His vision was still blurry, but he dimly saw the body of the dragon being rolled over the cliffs into the ocean below. As the crowd was returning to where Sven was tied, he noticed a pair of torches in Wiglaf's hands.

In between Sven and the cliff was the pyre of Beowulf. There stopped Wiglaf and the crowd for a few moments as he stooped down and lit the fire. It quickly flared up, the piles of gold glimmering in the blaze. Once the flames began to die down the crowd turned their attention to the bound Sven.

Wiglaf spake unto him, "You see that pyre over there? That pyre is burning to honor the death of a king. You will burn at this stake a thief who dishonored that king's memory. That gold you stole was meant for the king; but, because of your greed, I decided that which you stole will be burned with you. It will mar this ground and serve as a tainted reminder of an ignoble wretch."

Horror dawned over Sven at the same moment as he noticed the gold scattered amongst the pile of logs at his feet. He began to plead, but the resolve of Wiglaf was of stone as he plunged the torch into the logs. Casting a last, desperate look at the crowd, Sven saw the grinning face of Halvar before the flames rose and Sven crumpled amongst them. 

Author's Note 

This story is a narration of the death and burning of Beowulf, the Scandinavian hero. I wanted to try and change the perspective of the story by introducing a new character who was not present in the original tale: Sven. In the original, the earls are mentioned as a collective group multiple times and I wanted to personify what the earls must have been thinking and feeling in one representative character in this story. The earls did the smart things and ran from a dragon, but in the process they abandoned their king to face its alone which led to his death. Wiglaf honors his king's wishes and has the gold burned on the pile with him, an act the earls must have found ludicrous. Surely one would have tried to steal this gold and I felt that Wiglaf, in his grief-stricken state, would likely have responded in a way similar to what I wrote of. Thank you guys so much for reading!

Story Source: The Story of Beowulf by Henry Pitz

Image Source: Pixibay

Week 12 Story: The Passing of Merlin

 A Tale of Foresight

Merlin looked forlornly at Arthur and knew that the time had come. Merlin had known every aspect and every moment of his life since he had first mastered the arts of foresight as a young man. His master had told him not to peer into the future for he would hate what he saw in the future. As a foolish bull-headed bachelor, he ignored his master and peered into his future seeking what his love would be like and who it would be. 

In that moment he saw every aspect of the hopeless romance and he grew troubled at what he saw, for he was confused by the who lived within the story of his future. To understand better, he then peered into the entirety of his future and learned every aspect of every moment for the rest of his life. He saw the importance of a boy named Arthur who would go on to change the whole kingdom and he knew how important his role would be in that change.

Distressed, he came to in the moment he had seen all of his future. He knew what would happen to him and he knew he could not change it. Merlin also knew he had 80 years to come to terms with his mortality before his demise, to the day. 

And now, here he was, two weeks before he knew he would die. He knew this would be his last day with Arthur, so he shared every piece of advise he had gleaned from the future with him in hopes that he would be able to escape his fate, even though Merlin knew that he himself could not. 

As soon as he had finished speaking to Arthur, he saw her. The woman who would kill him. The woman he instantly fell in love with. Vivien.

She was as beautiful as he had seen in his premonitions of the future, but now he was in the present and he knew he could not escape the allure of her. Like a fish caught by the most appealing of lures, he was caught in a trap which he could not comprehend for all his knowledge. 

Blinded by love, he followed after her day after day. Even though he knew she despised him, he followed still in a trance caused by her beauty. Yet, Vivien asked many questions of the legendary wizard. She asked him of all his spells and all his knowledge in the arcane arts. 

Against all reason, he told her every scrap of knowledge he knew of magic. Everything his master had taught him so many years ago and every piece of magic he had made himself and shared with no other soul. 

Once she knew she had learned all she could form Merlin, Vivien decided it was time to put an end to his bothersome presence. Using a piece of magic she had learned from him, she created cavern in the hillside and asked Merlin to find treasure within. Merlin knew only death awaited him in the crumbling catacombs, but he also knew that he could nothing other than follow his heart. 

Striking his staff alight on the stones, he walked into the gloom as the dirt walls began to crumble in.

Author's Note

I decided to focus primarily on Merlin's perspective in this story, as that was an aspect not discussed in the original tale. In the original, it focused primarily on the greater actions around what Merlin was doing, not so much on the man who knew how he would die and submitting to it. At first, I was incredibly confused by this tale. Surely, I thought, someone who knew how he would die, down to the last detail and in such an unavoidable way, would be able to avoid his fate. To reconcile this, I attempted to put the impetus of keeping the future for England bright by him knowing that he must sacrifice himself in such a way for that future to be achieved. Essentially, I wanted Merlin to feel he had to sacrifice himself for the greater good of England but then actually becoming entranced by Vivien's beauty. Another note, there was no reference back to his time as a student or even he having a master, for that matter, but the story was very loosely focused on Merlin's fate, so I added those elements to help make the story more cohesive and fill in some gaps that I had noticed in the original version of the tale. Thank you for reading!

(Image Source: Flickr)

(Story Source: King Arthur: Knights of the Round Table by Andrew Yang)

Week 11 Story: The Sacred Legend

 A Tale of How Civilization Began

At the beginning of time men were in the water. They awoke from nothingness and found themselves in the water. Awareness coming to them, they came from the water to land. They were cold on land, so they twisted together grass and leaves to make clothes for themselves. Hungry they chased after deer and elk with clubs for food. Men went to bed cold and hungry many nights, dissatisfied with their lot.

One day a man took a rock and hit it upon another rock, breaking the first into sharp points. Learning this, he showed other men how to do the same. They took these sharp rocks and made arrows and spears. They used their new arrows and spears to hunt the deer and elk, making food much easier for them to find.

Yet, they were still cold, and they ate their meat raw. One man, when he was cold, took two elm roots and began to rub them together. When he did this a fog rose from the roots and a strong odor rose with it. Excited, he took what he learned back to the other men. Together they rubbed elm roots together and made fire. With this fire the men were warm, and they cooked their elk and deer over the fire. 

Yet, they grew to not like their meat cooked on the open fire and desired to find a new way to cook it. One day a man took some mud and brought it near the fire, where it turned hard. Excited, he took what he learned back to the other men and they gathered much of this mud. With it, they made pots and hardened them near the fires. Satisfied, they took the pots and filled them with water and meat and sat them in the fires. Now they had boiled meat to eat and were happy with it.

Yet, they realized that their homes were frail and cold. The grass they twisted together for their clothes they also made into their homes, but it blew away in the wind and left the men chilly at night. They tried taking the hide of deer and elk and making skin houses, but the pelts were too soft and tore when stretched fovea the frames they built. They tried to make houses of bark, but they were too heavy and collapsed. Finally, they took the hides of buffalo and stretched them over the frames. These held and made warm houses for the men. They took also these hides and made soft clothes for themselves to stay warm when they were not in their houses.

Yet, they needed to make more houses and could not chop wood quick enough. So, they took some of their sharp rocks and tied them to handles to make hatchets. The women used these hatchets to cut logs and limbs for more houses. They used their sharp rock knives to cut and treat the hides for the houses. With these, the group of men grew.

Yet, the men grew tired of eating just meat. One day a man went into the woods and found a pile of red, blue, and white stones. Thinking them valuable, he buried them by the village for him to find later. Many days later, he came back and found. plant where he buried the stones. Excited, he showed this to the other men who decided to let the plant grow and see what it would become. Many moons later, they harvested the plant and found its fruit to be beautiful reds, blues, yellows, and whites. They took these fruits and hid them for the next spring. Then they planted these stones and grew more of the colorful fruit, which they ate excitedly. 

Now men had grown from cold creatures on the shores of the water to communities where men were warm, well-fed, and growing. Men had shared with each other what they learned and all men grew from it.

Author's Note 

This story is a fairly simple retelling of the Sacred Legend of the Omaha people. It is a creation tale of sorts, but is much different than the typical creation tale. It focuses not on the gods or how animals contributed to creation and man's development, but how man helped himself to grow into a powerful force in nature. It is a tale of how men, when they rely upon one another, can help grow out of the coldest and darkest moments. I truly love this tale because it is such a different tale than any I have yet to read in this class. So often in mythology or folklore, mankind does not find its own way in the world but is assisted by other beings. This is a tale of how humanity did it themselves, they figured out the tricks and knowledge of how to survive in a hostile world, and they shared that knowledge with one another instead of hoarding it for themselves. I thought about trying to retell the tale in a different settings, but there seemed to be such a natural beauty to the tale that I wanted to keep it true to its original form. Thanks for reading and hoped you enjoyed it!

Image Source: WallPaperUse

Story Source: Myths and Legends of the Great Plains by Katharine Judson

Week 10 Story: The First Fire

 A Tale of New Pathways

The ship had crashed over a week ago and all attempts to retrieve the engine form the ship had been unsuccessful. The scientists on site didn't know exactly where it came for, but they suspect it was from far outside out galaxy. They were stumped as to how it could even have gotten here, which made the retrieval of the engine all the more important. They believed it would unlock secrets for interstellar travel for humanity.

Three teams had been dispatched from the forward command unit, all attempting the mission with varying degrees of success. The first team had come into the ship purely as exploratory. They found no living beings in the ship, leading to the theory it was either a scout ship piloted like a drone or by AI. In their exploration, they found the engine fully intact and attempted to begin removing the golden sphere from its housing. This released a massive amount of heat which charred the uniforms of the scientists and military officers in the party. They quickly left and second team was equipped and sent in afterwards.

This second team was successful in loading the sphere on a truck and started to drive it out of the crashed ship when they noticed it had a side effect on the men and women of the party. They began to age rapidly. Their eyes quickly started going blind and they abandoned the engine and made back for the base. There, the scientists ascertained that the engine likely was used to move the ship though slip space, distorting time so that the ship traveled faster than would have been possible through mere speed.

With this knowledge, the scientists prepped the third team for a speed run. They were meant to go in very quickly and retrieve the engine and bring it back to a containment chamber which would nullify the effects of the time field around the engine. This team was more successful than the teams prior, managing to get the sphere within sight of the base before having to abandon the engine as ancient reflections of their earlier selves. 

However, they brought the sphere close enough to base that it began to affect the base, though in a much slower fashion than they themselves were effected. As a result, the base had to be abandoned and a new plan was formed. The brass decided that sending in a team of the youngest soldiers on the base to go in and retrieve the sphere where it was abandoned, and speed run it to the containment chamber. 

They came into the time field as quickly as possible and ran it as fast as they could to the containment field. Every step was a month, each one aging them. When they finally managed to get the engine to the containment chamber, they were nearly on death's door with age. The geriatric heroes shut the door on the chamber just as they began to fade away. They died on the steps of the chamber, knowing they had made a sacrifice which would propel humanity forward in untold leaps.

Author's Note

This story is based loosely on the Cherokee tale of the first fire. In this tale, many animals see the first fire on a distant island and attempt to retrieve it and bring it to the mainland. Several animals try and fail, each leaving changed by the effect of the fire. Finally, a small, young spider comes forward and offers to bring the fire for them all. She does this quickly and efficiently, giving fire to the world and allowing civilization to develop and grow at a much faster rate. This tale was meant to modernize that original Cherokee myth by introducing an element which would proportionally realty to the fire for early man: interstellar travel technology. I'm no scientist, so all of my science in this story may be wildly off base, if that effects your reading of the story I am terribly sorry! One final touch I wanted to add was how civilization is always built on the paths created by the older generations and how it is expected of the younger to keep the pathways growing and expanding, even at the risk of their own position in the world and in life. Thank you for reading!

Story Source: Myths of the Cherokee by James Mooney

Image Source: Pixy

Week 9 Story: The Three Evils

 A Tale of a Changed Man

Once in a rural region in the north of China, a new mandarin came to administer the district. He was not from the region and was unfamiliar with the customs and troubles of the region. To better know the region, he dressed in the garb of the locals and went incognito amongst them to hear of their troubles. When he was at a table with the elders of one of the villages, they bemoaned the evils which plagued their region. There were two lesser evils, a dragon which caused the rivers to flood and a tiger which frequently killed travelers on the road. These both paled in comparison to the greatest evil, a young man named Dschou Tschu.

Dschou Tschu was a impetuous young man who cared little for the hurt he inflicted on others. He would often put his hand to that which was not his and would get embroiled in numerous conflicts in the villages of the region. What was most fearsome about him for the elders of the village was his exceptional skill with a sword. He had a beautiful blade he carried with him that he knew how to use very well.

Concerned about this young man, the mandarin came to the house of Dschou Tschu one evening after the young man had been out drinking at the local inn. The mandarin met him on the doorstep as he returned and asked the man what he thought were the greatest evils which plagued the district. The young man haughtily replied there were no evils in the district, as every man had food on his table and a contented home.

The mandarin then told the young man that the elders of the very village they were in claimed there were three great evils which plagued all who lived there. Aghast that he knew not of these evils, Dschou pleaded that the mandarin reveal their identity to him so that he could make the village safe for those who lived there. 

The mandarin told him of the tiger, which the young man promised to hunt down and kill that very night. He then was told of the dragon which lived in the river, which he agreed to also hunt and kill that same evening. The mandarin then told him that he, Dschou Tschu, was the greatest of all three of these evils for those in the district.

In disbelief that he could have been causing strife for those whom he loved in the village, Dschou said that he too would make amends for the third evil. Setting his face to the east, Dschou set off for the forest where the tiger had been plaguing travelers. Rushing into the forest, he came to the cave where the snowy white tiger lived. 

The beast rushed out to meet Dschou, but he was ready and caught the tiger by the scruff of its neck. He pinned the beast to the ground and pummeled the head of the tiger with his free hand until it was dead. He tossed the beast over his shoulder and made for the nearest bridge. Once there, he deposited the tiger on the bank and stripped off his clothes. He took his sword in hand and dove into the water.

He disappeared for several minutes, with puffs of steam and smoke bubbling up out of the water intermittently. At last, Dschou burst forth from the water with the head of the dragon in his hand and the water turning to blood all around him. He waded back to shore and threw the tiger carcass over his shoulder again. With it, the head of the dragon, and his sword, he made his way back to the house of the mandarin.

He came to the house and called for the mandarin to come out. The weary mandarin, who had expected the young man to have gotten himself killed by the tiger or dragon, was surprised to see Dschou on his doorstep. He was even more surprised to see the young man with the dead beasts in each hand.

Dschou dropped them before the mandarin and told him that he had taken care of two of the three evils and was now prepared to rid the third from this district. He said that he would leave immediately and join the army, so that he would never plague his people again and would protect them from any other evils which may befall them.

Turning, Dschou left the village and made for the first fort outside of the district. Once there, he joined the army and served faithfully within it for many years, though he never returned to his district.

 In one particularly fierce battle with brigands, Dschou found himself backed up against the border of his home district with no other soldiers left standing to help him defend it. Setting his face to the east, towards his home, he determined that this would be his final act in defense of it.

 He fought for many hours, defending against all of those who sought to invade his home. He fought through many painful injuries and through untold exhaustion. Yet, he fought until he had defeated the army which had stood against him. Knowing his time was drawing near, for the number and severity of his injuries was great, he turned one last time towards his home and knew that he had paid his debt to those he loved.

Author's Note

This story is almost exactly the same as the original folktale, with only a few minor changes made to add some detail and depths to characters. In the original story, I found it quite odd that Dschou made such a drastic change so quickly and I had a hard time reconciling that in my version even. To compensate for such an inexplicable and complete character change, I attempted to increase his devotion to his home and his commitment to protecting it. I mainly did this beading the point where he did literally defending his home, while keeping his promise never to return there. In the original, he died a normal death on the battlefield, with no particular devotion to his home or reference again to his self-imposed exile. All in all, I really enjoyed the original tale and sought to do it justice by keeping it as true to the original as possible while adding details which I felt contributed to the story and the characters. Thank you for reading!

Story Source: The Chinese Fairy Book

(Image Source 1: Sunny Art Center)

(Image Source 2: Pixy)

Week 4 Story: Revision

  A Tale of an Honest Man

Once there lived a simple man who was a woodcutter by trade. Our Woodcutter would go into the forest near his village every morning and fell a number of trees which he would then log and sell for his livelihood. He was content with his lot, despite the fact he always lived near the edge of poverty. He sustained himself well, but one bad season could be irreparable. There were a number of other woodcutters in the village with whom he was quite good friends, despite their obvious disdain for their profession and less-than-desirable reputation as gamblers and cheats. Notwithstanding his company kept, our Woodcutter was a good man who enjoyed his life.

One blustery autumn morning, he took his axe in hand and made for the forest. The axe had been his only means at providing for himself since he had been a youth. The old, weathered handle was simple oak, but was smoothed with years of usage and was as familiar to him as his own hands. Once he arrived in the section of the forest he was to begin cutting, our Woodcutter took a few moments to scout the few trees he wished to fell that day. Having taken a moment to plan, he set to work. And work he did. All day he worked diligently felling the trees and deftly moving to the next. He worked until the sun began to lower on the western horizon. 

Then he was nearly finished with his final tree and set himself to finish it quickly before the sun set, for he had not expected the chill weather and had not dressed well nor brought any gloves. As a result, his hands were quite cold and his grip occasionally slipped on the handle of the axe. Hurrying to finish, he began throwing heavy strokes at the final tree. It was on one particularly powerful strike that our Woodcutter allowed his grip to loosen slightly and, with a cry of distress, let the axe fly off through his numb fingers and into the trees. Then, with an even greater cry from the Woodcutter, it fell with a loud splash into a deep pool of water.

      

Seeing his only means at providing food and shelter for himself disappear beneath the chilly waters, the Woodcutter began to cry loudly into the forest. He could not believe he had allowed himself to loose such a treasure to mere foolhardiness. His crying was so loud that even the gods heard him. One of these gods, by the name of Mercury, came down to see what was causing such a terrible noise. Seeing the Woodcutter knelt by the edge of the deep pool with trees felled all around him, the god approached the man and asked what had happened to cause him such despair.

Upon hearing the story, and the man's numerous proclamations of his devotion and austerity in life, the god had an idea. He told the man he would retrieve the axe and immediately dove into the water. Mere moments later he returned with a golden axe and proffered it to the man. Our noble Woodcutter told the god that this axe was not his. Pleased, the god lay the golden axe on the bank and dove into the water again. This time, he returned with an axe of solid silver. Still an honest man, the Woodcutter said that this axe was not his either. With a pleased grin on his face, Mercury dove a third time. And this time he returned with the simple wooden and iron axe which the man treasured so dearly.

With an excited shout, our Woodcutter told the god that this indeed was his axe. Having tested the man's veracity, the god proffered all three axes to our humble Woodcutter; his own so that he may return to work and the ones of precious metals so that he need not work as hard in the future. Beside himself with joy and disbelief, our Woodcutter repeatedly thanked the god and began the trek back to his humble shack. He stopped there long enough to deposit the axes and made his way for the tavern where he often supped with the other woodcutters. There, he told them the story of the day and, they, knowing the man to be truthful to a fault, believed him. However, instead of being happy for their friend, they were jealous of his newfound wealth and sought to find similar prosperity for themselves.

With avarice in their hearts, the other woodcutters took to the forest early the next morning. They tried to recreate the fortune of our humble Woodcutter by hiding their axes under bushes or in the hollows of trees and crying loudly of their misfortune into the forest. Mercury descended to each of these woodcutters but, being well-versed with trickery and thievery, he saw their desires. However, he would play along until the point he proffered a golden axe to the woodcutter. Wishing only to take wealth with them quickly, so as to limit their encounter with the frightening god, they sought only to make off with the golden axe. When they would exclaim that the gracious god had found their lost axe, he would confront them about their avarice and treachery. At that point, Mercury would beat the men in the woods and tell them to never return to the wood again, for our humble Woodcutter was now the master of these woods and all that was within them was now his by right.

Author's Note

The original story did not go into near as much detail as this retelling, and that is primarily what was changed to the story. I fleshed out the motivations, and backstories of the characters and added more detail to the events. The only changes outside that to the original story was that I added more reward to that which had been given to the Woodcutter. In the original, his only reward was the golden and silver axes. By adding his lordship I wanted to denote that not only was he a good and truthful man, he was greatly more so than those who he shared his life with. In a setting such as that, it is all the more noteworthy when one lives well while living in proximity to those who do not. Thank you for reading!

Note on Edits

One comment mentioned a few loose ends in the story when it came to the confrontations between the other woodcutters and Mercury. I had left a few holes in my plot as to the motivations of the other woodcutters that needed to be revised. Additionally, I cleaned up some phrasing that I found a little too wordy while additionally smoothing out a few rougher transitions between scenes and/or thoughts. Besides that, there was little to change based on the comments for other students or that I noticed in hindsight.

Image Source 1: Pixibay

Image Source 2: Snappy Goat 

Story Source: Aesop's fables, illustrated by Milo Winter

Week 6 Story: Hathor and Ra

 A Tale of a Misunderstood Goddess 

Ra had summoned her again. She knew what that meant, but she did not want to admit it to herself. Someone must have angered the vindictive old god again. The petty old man only ever summoned her when he needed the Other. Hathor hated the Other. 

Ever since she had been created from Ra's words, the Other had been there, lurking on the fringes of her life like a maleficent shadow. She and the Other were opposites: Hathor was meant to be gentle goddess who cared and nurtured, the Other was nothing like that. The Other was harsh, brutal, and bloody.

As she walked into the throne room, she was surprised to find all of the gods were there; something that had not happened since the day Set killed Osiris. Isis stood in the corner, likely scheming something; Horus perched protectively behind Ra; Hapi was bubbling around the edges of the room; the other gods interspersed throughout. 

Once she had entered and bowed before the throne of the god she hated, Ra spake and told her that he needed the Other, just as she suspected. He told her how mankind had disrespected him and needed to be wiped out, to a man. Hathor stood up in shock, never before had Ra asked something so ghastly from the Other. The Other was used to doing the dirty work for Ra, but that usually entailed only razing a city of men or hunting down a wayward god; never before something like this.

She tried to protest, but Ra was still king of the gods and was in total control of his throne room. Hathor tried to suppress the Other, but when Ra bade her she always readily obeyed. She felt the transformation begin as the same intense pain she had always experienced when the Other took over. She felt her muscles tightening and strengthening, her petite hands morphing into clawed instruments of brutality, her teeth into curved fangs only suited for one purpose: to kill.

The next few days turned into a bloody blur as Hathor tried to block out what the Other was doing while in control. However, try as she might, Hathor could not block it all out. The seas of men's blood and the cries of their anguish were all-pervasive, even as Hathor secluded herself further and further down in her own body. She vaguely recalled Ra trying to speak to her, but she was so beside herself that she could not make out what he was saying. She just continued letting the Other pilot her body.

Hathor suspected she had let the Other be in control for several days before she sensed the Other weakening. She then fully came back into control of her body and was horrified by the sight around her. The dead were everywhere and she was coated in so much blood. Tears welled up in Hathor's eyes as the visions of dying faces flooded through her. She turned to Ra, who was standing over her menacingly.

He said that she had lost control and that she was too dangerous to be left in her current form. Hathor could not believe the injustice of this. She was an unwilling tool of an oppressive god and now was being punished for doing her horrible job. She had never wanted to be what she was, what the Other was; now she was being told that the things she had been forced to do were her fault. 

Caught up in despair for the bloodshed and the pain she had caused, she just allowed herself to sink back in deeper into her self. She was already so far gone that, by the time Ra's magic started to work on her, there was hardly any Hathor left to change.

Author's Note

In the original story, Hathor was to tool of Ra to wreak havoc on mankind and punish them for disobedience. However, the original tale is told form Ra's perspective and I wanted to show how Hathor felt. She killed many men and grew uncontrollable in her bloodlust, and was punished by Ra at the end of the original tale for going too far by transforming her into the Heavenly Cow, a beast Ra would ride to the heavens form Earth.Hathor has many disparate roles as goddess, many of them antithetical; as such, I saw an opportunity to create a Jekyll and Hyde version of the story with the good-natured Hathor and the Other Hathor which was the vindicator of the gods. I also made Hathor intensely torn with her roles, eventually driving her into a depression so profound she allowed the transformation into the Heavenly Cow to happen. The tale came out much darker than I predicted, but thank you for reading!

Image Source: Piqsels

Story Source: David Mackenzie

Week 5 Story: Sinbad's Fifth Voyage

 A New Take on an Old Tale

Sinbad was on the road again, he always seemed to be on the road. After the fall of Old America over a hundred years ago road travel had become unreliable at best and deadly at worst. The first couple decades were the worst, at least that's what the old timers said. No one could travel safely even within the old states as the whole world devolved into anarchy and chaos. Then humanity started to get itself back off the ground and rebuild. People had congregated in some of the old cities and making progress as a people. They reconstructed the cities into more beautiful forms of their old selves, at the expense of stripping the other cities for parts and resources. This process continued until only twelve cities remained in New America. Because they had used their neighbors for parts, they were roughly equally distanced across the country, leaving huge swaths of the land ungoverned and wild. 

Few people dared to brave this expanse as it was filled with outlaws and other undesirables who threatened robbery or worse at every bend in the road. Yet, the cities still needed to trade and people still needed to move between the cities. Planes became impossible to use because of the severe storms which spawned across the land, caused from years of radical climate change. The storms did not affect the cities to the same degree, developments in architecture accommodating the new constraints, but forced most cross-continental transit to be on the old highway system. And that's where people like Sinbad came in. They would set out in their transport vehicles with cargoes from one city and deliver to the next in a massive trading system.

Sinbad specialized in carrying the most expensive cargoes from destination to destination. He had carried nuclear power rods from New Orleans to Los Angeles, scientists from Pittsburg to Denver, and wealthy elites from Chicago to Seattle. His success had hinged on incessant vigilance on the roads, watching for robbers or storms on the horizon. While most transporters would make several stops on any trip at secure way stations along the roads, Sinbad never stopped. Instead, Sinbad used extremely strong coffee to keep him alert on the road. It was a closely guarded secret of his and had lead to his success and a great accumulation of wealth over the years. 

The only problem was that Sinbad had become horribly addicted to the stuff. He would go weeks on end without sleep, always ending in a comatose-like crash which would last for days. He had tried to get the monkey off his back several times, but it kept pulling him back in. Anytime he would get close to stopping, saying that he never would drink it or go on the road again, the lure of it would pull him back to it and the road. He simply could not get enough of either in his life.

On this particular trip Sinbad had decided it would be his last, for real this time. He had already had two close encounters with robbers on the road and he was only halfway through a four-part trip. He had picked up the package in Newer York, taken it to Atlanta for some big-wig to look at, and was now taking it to Oklahoma City for another person to inspect before he could finish the trip by dropping off the package in Phoenix. He was quite close to OKC and was looking forward to the rest stop in the city. He was driving through the gutted remain of an old town he thinks used to be called Normal, or something like that, when he drove into the trap. 

Usually, highway robbers were very overt, with large barricades or collapsed bridges blocking the roads. Rarely did they use trickery or strategy, and they never did so well. So, when Sinbad saw an old man waving in distress on the side of the road he never suspected trickery. Not really thinking, he pulled over. His momma had raised him right and had told him to always help the elderly. 

In all truthfulness, he should not have been surprised when the old man pulled an ancient handgun out and demanded that Sinbad drive him to the city. Wildlings rarely entered the cities and experienced the fruits of civilization, but hijacking a transport was the surest way. Not knowing what to do, Sinbad got in the driver seat at gunpoint and started driving to the city. He expected that the old man would kill him as soon as they reached their destination, but he did not know what else to do.

He looked down at his coffee and took a large, nervous gulp. He kept his eyes averted from the old man as he took another swig. It helped calm his nerves some, and he started to worry less about the situation. However, the old man saw that Sinbad was drinking something and, surely not having had anything decent to drink before in his life, swiped the coffee out of his hands and took a sip. His eyes widened with amazement and proceeded to drink more and more deeply. 

The coffee did not seem to have the same affect on the man as it did for Sinbad, however. He became very jittery, very quickly, yet he continued to drink. After a few more minutes it seemed like the man was about to explode with energy. A few minutes later, he lay slumped over in his seat as Sinbad pulled the transport to the side of the highway. The old man's heart had literally exploded from the caffeine, and Sinbad pulled him out of the car and dumped him on the side of the road.

Not believing his luck, Sinbad got back in his transport and continued on his way to OKC to deliver the package. Now he knew for sure that he never would be on the road or drink that coffee again after this trip!

Author's Note 

This is a highly adapted version of Sinbad's Fifth Voyage. Sinbad was an Arabic merchant who would travel all over the world by ship and make excessive amounts of money on his adventures every time, despite constantly coming into trouble on the seas. This particular story is adapted from when Sinbad was shipwrecked on an island with an old man who held him hostage by riding on Sinbad's shoulders and locking his legs around Sinbad's throat, threatening to choke him if he misstepped. He would ride on his back for many days, seeking to pluck the fruit out of the trees on the island. During this time Sinbad had made wine for himself to ease his troubles; wine that, once the old man drank it, caused Sinbad to escape. I wanted to focus heavily on the crutch Sinbad had in wine to ease his passage in life, much like the coffee (a personal vice of mine) did for future-Sinbad. He wanted to shake the coffee off as much as the original Sinbad wanted the old man off his back.

Image Source 1: Flickr 

Image Source 2: PxHere

Story Source: Andrew Lang's adaptation of Arabian Nights

Week 4 Story: The Woodcutter's Axe

 A Tale of an Honest Man

Once there lived a simple man who was a woodcutter by trade. Our Woodcutter would go into the forest near his village every morning and fell a number of trees which he would then log and sell for his livelihood. He was content with his lot, despite the fact he always lived near the edge of poverty. He sustained himself well, but one bad season could be irreparable. There were a number of other woodcutters in the village with whom he was quite good friends, despite their obvious disdain for their profession and less-than-desirable reputation as gamblers and cheats. Notwithstanding his company kept, our Woodcutter was a good man who enjoyed his life.

One blustery autumn morning, he took his axe in hand and made for the forest. The axe had been his only means at maintaining his quality of life since he had been a youth. The old, weathered handle was simple oak, but was smoothed with years of usage and was as familiar to him as his own hands. Once he arrived in the section of the forest he was to begin cutting, our Woodcutter took a few moments to scout the few trees he wished to fell that day. Having taken a moment to plan, he set to work. And work he did, all day he worked diligently felling the trees and deftly moving to the next. He worked until the sun began to lower on the western horizon. 

He was nearly finished with his final tree at this point and set himself to finish it quickly before the sun set, for he had not expected the chill weather and had not dressed well or brought any gloves. As a result, his hands were quite cold and his grip occasionally slipped on the handle of the axe. Hurrying to finish, he began throwing heavy strokes at the final tree. It was on one particularly powerful strike that our Woodcutter allowed his grip to loosen slightly and, with a cry of distress, let the axe fly off through the trees. Then, with an even greater cry from the Woodcutter, it fell with a loud splash into a deep pool of water.

      

Seeing his only means at providing food and shelter for himself disappear beneath the chilly waters, the Woodcutter began to cry loudly into the forest. He could not believe that the world was so cruel as to take his livelihood from him in such an unceremonious way. His crying was so loud that even the gods heard him. One of these gods, by the name of Mercury, came down to see what was causing such a terrible noise. Seeing the Woodcutter knelt by the edge of the deep pool with trees felled all around him, the god approached the man and asked what had happened to cause him such despair.

Upon hearing the story, and the man's numerous proclamations of his devotion and austerity in life, the god had an idea. He told the man he would retrieve the axe and immediately dove into the water. Mere moments later he returned with a golden axe and proffered it to the man. Our noble Woodcutter told the god that this axe was not his. Pleased, the god lay the golden axe on the bank and dove into the water again. This time, he returned with an axe of solid silver. Still keeping honest, the Woodcutter said that this axe was not his either. With a wicked, pleased grin on his face, Mercury dove a third time. And this time he returned with the simple wooden and iron axe which the man loved so dearly.

With an excited shout, our Woodcutter told the god that this indeed was his axe. Having tested the man's veracity, the god proffered all three axes to our humble Woodcutter; his own so that he may return to work and the ones of precious metals so that he need not work as hard in the future. Beside himself with joy and disbelief, our Woodcutter repeatedly thanked the god and began the trek back to his humble shack. He stopped there long enough to deposit the axes and made his way for the tavern where he often supped with the other woodcutters. There, he told them the story of the day and, they, knowing the man to be truthful to a fault, believed him. However, instead of being happy for their friend, they were jealous of his newfound wealth and sought to find similar prosperity for themselves.

With avarice in their hearts, the other woodcutters took to the forest early the next morning. They tried to recreate the fortune of our humble Woodcutter by hiding their axes under bushes or in the hollows of trees and crying loudly of their misfortune into the forest. Mercury descended to each of these woodcutters but, being well-versed with trickery and thievery, he saw their desires. However, he would play along until the point he proffered the golden axe to the woodcutter. When they would exclaim that the gracious god had found their lost axe, he would confront them about their avarice and treachery. At that point, Mercury would beat the men in the woods and tell them to never return to the wood again, for our humble Woodcutter was now the master of these woods and all that was within them was now his by right.

Author's Note

The original story did not go into near as much detail as this retelling, and that is primarily what was changed to the story. I fleshed out the motivations, and backstories of the characters and added more detail to the events. The only changes outside that to the original story was that I added more reward to that which had been given to the Woodcutter. In the original, his only reward was the golden and silver axes. By adding his lordship I wanted to denote that not only was he a good and truthful man, he was greatly more so than those who he shared his life with. In a setting such as that, it is all the more noteworthy when one lives well while living in proximity to those who do not. Thank you for reading!

Image Source 1: Pixibay

Image Source 2: Snappy Goat 

Story Source: Aesop's fables, illustrated by Milo Winter

Week 3 Story: Mice Tales

 Tales of Muris the Mouse

Story 1: Belling the Cat

Once there was a peculiar young mouse named Muris. He was not overly smart, nor was he overly brave; but, upon occasion, he did have the most exemplary moments of any tiny mouse's life. The first of these happened when he was quite young. You see, the mice of the farm had congregated in the back of the storeroom to discuss the threat the Cat posed to the community at large. The mice crowded near the burst case of strawberries and were nibbling at them as they presented one idea after another on how to handle the issue. Some less-than-brilliant mice recommended making a large mouse trap with which to catch the Cat, though this was disregarded for none of the mice knew how to make the trap. Another, even more foolhardy, recommended negotiating with the Cat; luckily the elders put an end to that very quickly. At last young Muris stepped forward and presented his own idea: to put a bell around the Cat's neck! 

The mice cheered at the idea, for brilliant it was. With a bell on its neck, the mice would be able to hear the Cat coming from afar and flee before it arrived. Muris also volunteered to be the one to place the bell himself and committed to doing it the very same evening. The elders cautioned him about the teeth and claws of the Cat for the rest of the evening and, prepared for the adventure, Muris set off to the barn. He snuck inside quickly and quietly, reaching the sleeping Cat mere minutes after leaving the mice. He slyly slunk up the Cat and deftly tied to bell to the collar. With a small breath of relief, Muris set back to the mice, where they prepared to accept their new hero.

Story 2: The Country Mouse and the City Mouse 

The second tale of Muris was some time later when one of his cousins, Mus, came to visit from the nearby city. The cousin and his family had fled from the tyranny of the Cat some months prior, but that situation had been solved now. When Mus arrived, Muris welcomed him to his hole in the wall and presented him with the finest feast he could muster. Muris lay the choicest bits of bacon, beans, and butter before his city-dwelling cousin. Though, much to Muris's surprise, Mus refused to eat any of the mean country fare. Instead, he claimed that city fare was far superior and he would take Muris into the city so he could enjoy what real food tasted like. Dubious and somewhat offended, Muris agreed to accompany Mus to the city because he was family. 

When they arrived the next day, Mus took Muris into the back room of a fine restaurant where they commenced feasting on the fine fare. They ate scraps of sweet meats, chocolate desserts, and decadent cheese to their hearts content. As they finished, they heard a scratching and snuffling at the door. When Muris inquired to Mus about the sounds, he answered it was the large guard dogs owned by the restaurant to chase mice away. At that moment, the dogs burst in and the tow mice fled in terror! While Mus fled deeper into the city, Muris fled back to the country and vowed never again to go into the city full of such beasts again.

Story 3: The Lion and the Mouse

The third tale of Muris happened directly after the second. While fleeing, Muris payed not attention to the path before him and ran along the spine of a slumbering Lion. With a start, the Lion pounced and pinned poor Muris. The Lion was not overly hungry and, luckily for Muris, agreed to release the mouse after his intense pleading for his life. The Lion did so more because he did want to have to bother with such a small morsel, but Muris promised the Lion a favor if ever they should cross paths again. Neither thoughts the opportunity would arise until a chance encounter put them in one another's path the very next day.

Muris was roaming the edges of the berry fields near his farm when he heard a very unlionlike mewling from the nearby forest. Curious, Muris entered the wood and found the very same Lion tied in a net at the base of a tall oak tree. Muris saw his opportunity to even his debt and chewed the Lion free from his bonds. In extreme gratitude, the Lion thanked the mouse for his kindness and promised that he would be rewarded for his actions.

Story 4: The Married Mouse

The final tale of Muris is a sad and tragic end to the little fellow. The Lion he had saved proved extremely gracious as he gave Muris his sister as a wife. How anyone thought that this marriage would end well is still a mystery, but all involved were excited with the arranged marriage and took it willingly. However, mere hours after the vows had been spoken and the newly wed couple arrive at their new home, poor Muris got in the way of his much larger wife. When trying to open the door for the Lioness, she stepped on him. Unfortunately, Muris died quite suddenly and did not experience the joys of his odd marriage, but such is often the way with folktales. 

Author's Note

This collection of stories was based of many disparate mice tales from Aesop which featured different mice in each tale. I sought to bring all of the tales together by creating a singular heroic mouse for the stories to follow. There was one slight problem, however; the different mice had vastly different personalities in the tales. As such, I had to standardize the character somewhat to a middling mouse who is neither overtly heroic or cowardly. For example, the first tale originally ended with no mouse being brave enough to tie the bell to the Cat. Additionally, the Lion from the third story has no ties to the fourth, but I married the two tales to add greater continuity.

Image Source: Snappy Goat 

Story Source: Aesop's Fables by Jacobs

Week 2 Story: Beauty and the Basilisk

The Three Roses 

Once there was a mother who lived alone with her three daughters. Her husband having passed away some years ago the mother worked arduously to provide for her family. She mended neighbors’ clothes, grew herbs on their small plot of land, and even worked occasionally at the local tavern, all to help support her daughters.

It was one night working at the tavern that a visitor to the small community left a sizable tip for her. Ecstatic at the gift, she returned home to her girls. When she arrived home, she became determined to use the money to give her daughters gifts, a largely absent commodity. She asked the oldest daughter what she wanted and the girl immediately spouted out a long list of things she had always dreamed of owning. Unabashedly, the second daughter replied with a list very similar to her elder sister’s. 

Beginning to fear that the tip would not be large enough to cover the desires of the girls, the mother turned to the third and youngest daughter. This girl claimed to be content with the provision of her mother and wanted nothing more. Surprised, the mother asked again and was then told that if the mother insisted on a gift, let it be three simple roses.

Her head whirling with the oddity of the night and trying to remember the lengthy lists two of her daughters provided, she went to bed with the intention of going to the market in the nearby city the next morning. The market within held everything on the lists of the two older girls and the money left to the mother by the traveller was barely sufficient to cover the gifts. Heavy laden, the mother began her trek back home as dusk fell.

On the road home the realization that she had forgotten the simplest of gifts for her youngest daughter overtook the mother. In guilty desperation, she cast her gaze to the countryside around her. In unbelievable luck, she had stopped next to a large estate on the roadside with a magnificent garden. Thinking that the master of the house would not miss three simple flowers, the mother snuck into the garden. 

Within she found the most beautiful of rose bushes. Quickly, she cut three of the largest off and turned to leave the garden. However, standing in the gateway was a large basilisk who stared at her with large, yellow eyes. The basilisk spoke and made a demand of the mother to either give her own life or to bring her daughter here as a price for the roses. Trembling with fear, the mother hastily agreed to bring a daughter to the beast the very next day.

At that, the mother fled from the garden as quick as her feet allowed. Once home, she hurriedly explained to her youngest daughter the agreement, while the older two excitedly rifled through the pile of gifts. Quite surprisingly, the young girl agreed to go with her mother the next morning, an air of calm emanating from the child. Flustered by the whole scenario, the mother went to bed with dread in her heart for the fate of her daughter and hate for her own cowardice.

Despite her misgivings, the next morning she gathered her daughter and her things, and they left for the estate. As they walked down the track, the mother determined she would make amends for her cowardice and save her daughter from the beast at the first opportunity. Once at the estate, the basilisk met them at the same gate as the night before and ordered the girl into the house and for the mother to leave. Crestfallen, the mother gave her daughter what she feared may be her final hug and left.

She did not go far, however, she merely walked down the track and then into the woods, and there waited for night to come. Once night had fallen, she crept back to the estate and peered through a large set of windows. Inside, she saw the most bizarre of scenes. Her daughter was very much alive but was holding the head of the beast in her lap as the rest of it lay curled on the floor. And so the two remained all night long. When the sun began to rise the mother fled the estate again, for fear of the beast and for lack of opportunity to rescue her daughter. 

She returned the same evening after having returned home and rested during the day. Much to her surprise, she found the same bizarre scene with her daughter and the beast. Astounded the beast had let the girl live this long, she returned yet again on the third consecutive night but, this time, to a much different scene.

Inside she heard the beast shouting at the girl to cut off his head with the sword the beast had drug into the room. The girl seemed reluctant as first, but the beast threatened her until she did as he bade. Despite the gruesome slaughter, the girl remained in the midst of the mess while a serpent slithered out of the decapitated corpse. As it slithered, it called out in the voice of the beast for the girl to strike his head off yet again. This time the girl did so without hesitation.

Relieved that the threat was gone, the mother prepared to enter the estate and pull her daughter from the ghastly scene as one final surprising thing happened. The bloody body of both the beast and the serpent melted away, as did the sword the girl was holding. In the place of the body stood a princely man.

He told the girl of a curse which had been placed on him many years ago that required a pure heart to break. He then asked the girl if there was any way he could repay her for breaking the curse. She replied with one simple phrase: “All I would like is three simple roses.”

Author’s Note

Reading the original story left me deeply unsatisfied as there was no explanation for many of the events which happened, such as why the mother was going to the town, and the motivations for all of the characters’ actions were never explained. I sought to add a little more detail to the events which surround the mother going to town in the first place and sought to generate a better understanding of one character by focusing on the mother’s perspective throughout the story. All that being said, I understand and appreciate the mysticism of a fantasy tale and tried to keep an air of that in my retelling by leaving the youngest daughter a mysterious enigma to everyone, as she was in the original story. 

(Image Source: Daron Hagen)

Story Source: The Three Roses by Josef Baudis in The Key of Gold