Witches, Part 2 - Structures & Sirloins

It Is Not Who You Are
Art by Tithi Luadthong

Middling

As practitioners of The Primeval Forces, witches share much in common with the druids who thrive amongst them. The artform is a fundamental part of a witch's practice, stewing together slow, powerful magic with the more explosive forces of The Occult. Through this combination, witches are considered masters of feats which other casters would find impossible, such as the sewing of hexes. 

Covens exist on a leyline between two different worlds. By locking themselves between the urbanite and the natural world, a witch lives in both but belongs to neither, helping themselves to the little tricks by which magic subsides. Witches have succeeded in reverse-engineering many of the gifts possessed by druids, such as the transformation of the body through wild-shape, much to the dismay of the druids themselves. Witches found in their homes, ripped limb from limb by brambles or teeth, discourage exiles from joining a coven.

Witches are not druids, but they are also not wizards. Their spells are informed by quieter, older powers, and the rituals they undertake are tinctured with chaos. Much of the structure surrounding a witch's power involves convolution and process. Witch problems require witch solutions, only solved through witch processes. 

The Faux-Rabbit

Fear The Hound Who Speaks In Threes
'Shape on the Stairs' by Dappermouth

It is not easy to transmogrify oneself into the shape of another. Legend tells of the great lengths the ancient Deûlémain had to undertake to sculpt their physical forms, picking apart the flesh of their mountainous prey. Whether through ritual or plague, druids of the wild-shaping variety may claim to have simplified the process, although it remains nonetheless strenuous and gruesome. With the introduction of Occult doctrine, witch ideology chose to ignore this process in place of its own.

A witch's glamours do not hold up to the same scrutiny as a druid's wild shape. Witches who drink their potions and apply their oils merely add layers to the canvas, a potent mimicry of wildlife. They contort themselves into shape, prancing along on hands and knees, dancing along the earth like a puppet on strings. A witch's disguise is near-indistinguishable from the beast she shadows, but more than once has a hunter struck a deer or wolf from afar, only to peel off its coat to reveal the woman inside.

A witch's disguise is limited but versatile. She does not adopt the flesh or biology of her borrowed form, but retains its physical adaptations. The difficult task of maintaining their facade and the question of size means that most witches who engage in mimicry limit themselves to less expressive beasts—mammals such as wolves or deer. A witch can maintain a larger or more shrivelled form, but many report the experience to be uncomfortable, even requiring dexterity (especially in the case of flight). Mimicking the appearance of a creature rather than transforming wholly into it means that the witch maintains much of her own mind, a fact lesser claimed by the druid, and most witches even claim to be capable of complete speech while inside. 

In some covens, revealing as much of the original body as possible without destroying the facade is considered a kind of sport.

An Alchemist's Pet

By the very nature of the practice, witches do not trust familiars. Many genuinely love their pets; familiars are trained by the boatload for this reason—clever tools in collection and espionage—but even the young witch is aware of the danger an Artisan's companion resides. Whether tamed by witches or the partner of a Republican Artisan, familiars are hosts to intelligent minds capable of tact and humour alike. 

Sisters and Siblings, Brothers In Arms
Art by Koukouvayia

Most familiars take on the shape of animals, but not all familiars are animals themselves. Although some may claim that the bond between man and beast is akin to one between humans, witches see this relationship as shaky at best. Most will resort to other approaches if the opportunity does not reveal itself. 

Calling is popular among possessive witches, who prize their familiars more as tools than companions. Invoking the powers respondent to them, a witch can embed their magic into a still vessel, constructing their familiar from baubles and parts and producing loyal homunculi. Most called familiars assume the appearance of regular animals, but inklings of their magical creation occasionally seep through the cracks. This sometimes serves to the witch's benefit.

What's Wrong With Your Dog?

1. Eyes sprout from the familiar's face and body, their pupils alien and unnerving.
2. Feathers take the place of fur, and manes adorn a plumaged brow.
3. It caws when it should bark and mews when it should shriek. Was that a laugh?
4. Synthetic material relieves the flesh; feathers of silver and classic stones.
5. Stitches can be seen along the neck or the back. Something peers from within it. 
6. It responds to stimuli others cannot see. Forgotten tongues and forces of nature, as if happy to reply.

Life-Weavers

Out of all the tools in a witch's arsenal, the hex is the tour de force. Hexcraft exists in all forms, in all manners of being, permeating the very existence of a witch's craft. No deal is made beneath a witch's tongue, and no action is made in her cauldron without first acknowledging the power of its icons. 

Hexes are commonly associated with symbols or runes, but not all maintain a physical form. The process of sewing a charm is interpersonal to the witch. Although there is a multitude of universally-accepted curses, most witches design at least one for themselves. Witches are taught early on to sew this magic in their belongings. Mundane objects become magic items, clothes and accessories become animated or living tools, and each flick of the occult festers more profound power. 

Some Of The More Infamous Curses Are Commonly Associated With Birds. Perhaps Another Time?
Art by Rea Kolarova

Making Cultures, Not Races

What Becomes Of Forgotten Knowledge?
'All Seeing' by Hector Mansilla

Culture is weird. 

I find it very hard to quantify cultural beliefs. That may be because it is flat-out impossible to boil down a complex system such as this to its foundational elements, which I don't necessarily believe, but it definitely proves challenging to imitate. The general sectioning of ideas that we call "culture" is so incredibly complex, so full of hypervariation, that even an amateur artist can handle what is effectively a bottomless chest of creativity. That difficulty seems to lie not in the department of numbers but in words. How does one form a culture? How does it come about in a way that is believable and not born from the seams of mockery?

If you do not intend to humiliate a group, 8 times out of 10, it will not be portrayed as such. I think that (far more often than some may believe) it is possible to tell whether a person is genuinely portraying a group as "bad" or "lesser" or if they are merely representing it. I also believe that you can describe a culture unfavourably even if it was not your intention, so definitely something to be aware of.

However, especially in fiction, sometimes the issue coalesces not in the portrayal of already-existent negativity but in the portrayal of culture as more than what it is. Culture is many things; it is representative of an individual's ideals, codifies a multitude of traits or features into identifiable groups, and can even serve as a microscope into more extraordinary truths. Through culture, we can identify ourselves within a community and, in turn, recognize what constitutes ourselves. 

If there is one thing that culture is not, it is race.

A Misunderstanding?

It should be stated that by no means is this a rampant issue. As more and more media has been published in film and literature, this odd contextualization of cultures as one big blob has begun to die down. Nevertheless, its presence is still felt, and some of the greatest works of our time have proven guilty of adjudicating its existence. From time to time, fantasy fiction predicates an idea that species persist off of mono-cultures—the elves and dwarves of Lord of The Rings, the Daleks of Doctor Who, and the many races of The Sword Coast in D&D—which inform their behaviour. All dwarves are trudging midgets with large beards who live deep within the earth, and all elves are ethereally beautiful aristocrats, deeply "attuned" with nature (wood elves) or snobbish of its creations (high elves), who wander the woodlands with longbows. 

This is in and of itself not a bad thing. The problem is when these ideas become assumptions of the norm rather than the individual. What comes to mind when you think of an elf? An orc? A human in fantasy fiction? A walking tree? Once these monoliths of culture become synonymous with the thing they symbolize, it becomes challenging to separate them again. Arnold Kemp over at Goblin Punch has a fantastic analysis of this problem here.  

So what can be done? If this issue holds the key to worse problems, how can we solve it? I don't know, not just because I think it still has some value but because I am looking for another solution. In designing cultures, not races, I wish to develop groups which stand against the grain of preconception. 

Of course, I'm bound to stumble and fall on the way down, and there is undoubtedly a fine line where culture and race intersect, but I see value in developing one separately from the other. Like faith, lore, and ideals, these totems can be set independently of one another, serving complimentary as a result.

Let's run through an example or two.

Art by Jessie Wu

Same Beginning, Same End

Unless you were grown in a vat or removed through cesarean (salutations, my fellow tumour babies), we were all born the same way. All human beings pop out of a womb after a couple of months, and in much the same way, we all eventually return to the earth. In this sense, we are all the same, but it is beyond this beginning and end that our differences arise. Everything from our genetic makeup to our surroundings to our cultural background differentiates us. 

In a group of a hundred people, the chance that two people share a birthday is nearly 100% (some argue that you can get >50% with as few as 23!). Imagine the fact that you share a birthday with somebody may just be the only similarity you have with them? 

Humanity as a species is ridiculously diverse. Ever since our ancestors scattered across the African continent and spread upon the rest of the world like lice, we've changed in nearly every way imaginable. Think of how many kinds of people there are, and not just in the visual sense? We have conquered entire landscapes—volcanos, canyons and island chains—for no reason other than a desire to live there. How much of your life do you think has been manipulated as a result of your living environment? Ever moved to a place that's nothing like where you grew up? Weird, huh? All aspects of our living experience—immigration examples notwithstanding—serve to teach us how to survive in that environment. Our customs, routines, and social norms act as how-to, informing us exactly how anybody stays in this place, especially the dominant majority. 

What would life be like if we all stuck around? What if humanity managed to construct a babel-esque structure, a leaning tower of pisa for communes, and we just evolved there instead? The issue with mono-cultures is that, in and of itself, the problem of settling, you cannot quell dissidents unless you first dispel free thought. An entire species living in a particular, interconnected location is bound to be made of dozens, if not hundreds, of different interacting groups of people. Sure, you can argue that it's unlikely you'll explore many of these groups in a story (or the author will simply focus only on the dominant majority), but there is absolutely value in depth. 

Ignoring questions of interracial and purely racist consequences, although intriguing and potentially significant, think of how a group can evolve only through their environment? In a tower-city surrounded by desert, how do you come about water? Is emphasis placed on the construction of aqueducts or mines? How does the every-man treat it? Is water a resource (at least somewhat) openly shared, for it is considered a necessity to all, or is it tightly regulated and/or hoarded? How do groups get around the tower, and is such transportation common? Are levels segregated?

Some of these questions may seem purely anecdotal, but they fulfill two objectives: to serve and to inform. What may be seen as "normal" to one faction may be reprehensible to another and openly preached by a third. Culture is not some magical background force that symbolizes the penultimate person; it is an evergreen, constantly changing power, which not only evolves with the group who created it but with the individual it seeds.

There's Lots More To Explore. I'll Be Back.
Art by Pieter Bruegel The Elder

 

A Short Catch-Up

Note: After reading through the first two chapters of Annie Dillard's "The Writing Life," I am happy to report that our feelings on creative literature intersect comfortably. I particularly enjoy one of the themes she makes apparent throughout her essays in Chapters 1 & 2; that much of a writer's work is conjured from their own experiences, especially those that occur around the time of writing. I am a jovial victim of this clause, and reading it in someone else's words makes me somewhat cathartic. As such, I wish to spend the day trying to crawl around in my mind and dissect something of use to put on the blog. Enjoy!

Make Your Own Witty Caption
By Mario Zucca

    I've been struggling to develop ideas recently. Writing, in general, has proven hard, although there hasn't necessarily been a lack of creativity in that timeframe. In fact, I'd argue that I have been very creative this past month: I just haven't been able to write it down properly. When Covid had just begun to sweep the globe (and I hate using it as an example), one of the long-term symptoms that struck me as horrific was the report of "brain fog" among patients. Folks who were once spry and active were feeling lethargic and fatigued, and those in positions that required writing acuity found themselves suddenly unable to meet demands. 

Brain fog is not something unique to Covid-19, but as someone who's suffered the ails of this mind cloud in the past (and has gotten sick with Covid twice!), I feel as if I am in a constant state of paranoia—fear of its chokehold on my ability to create. After devoting years of my life to understanding my overall difficulty with writing despite the pleasure I take in it—inconsistency of creation, language choice, a "strange" writing style, etc—it's been very hard to accept some of my limitations. That's part of why I started this blog; it gives me an excuse to speak my mind without judgment or fear of bubbling myself. I definitely have still bubbled myself a little, that's one of the consequences of online communities, but I'm still searching for opportunities to be humbled. 

When you're a 20-year-old nobody with a blog, the very idea of influence becomes an illusion. I do not believe this project is a hail mary or a hidden gem. The time of blogs is mostly past, and if I really wanted to be popular in this business, I probably should have started a decade ago. Sadly, it would have been illegal as a 5th grader, and the fact that I'm getting distracted even while writing this means that I'd probably fail to pull it off. 

Self-Perception Can Become Self-immolation
Art by A. Shipwright (Rare OOC shoutout, this dude's awesome)

But we persevere and push on despite our doubts. Although I recognize my flaws and laugh at my errors, there is a footnote to be made at the end of every page: Even when I struggle, I write. Suffering is a word that is sometimes used, even by myself, but I feel it doesn't fit as well as struggle does. Suffering implies an amount of contempt, that one would be better off without trying. When I write, I do so to explore, learn and feel. It is a struggle, but there is nothing sufferable about it. 

This is more of a rant than a "normal" blog post, but at the very least it means I'm writing. The hope is that this will inspire me to start putting things up again, whether that be content or just other ramblings. I think I'm going to write about something a tad more appropriate soon. 

Stay Tuned.