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The Painting

“Seek not quarrels and warfare, not for any reasons.  Such reasons as there are for warfare are born of phantasies and fears. Rather seek out reasons for a mutual respect and enjoy together the manifold possibilities of life”

– The Devil’s Prayerbook.

‘This painting was the work of a very skilled artist’ he thought.  It appeared to portray the Norse god Loki in all his shining glory, but upon closer inspection it was obvious that it was an illusion.  The painting was not at all of Loptr, instead it was a self-evident depiction of Koalemos.  Jonathan congratulated himself for reading Plutarch.  Its not always all Greek after all.  Being close with Sigyn also helps, because she provided Jonathan with all the insight he needed to understand the situation from the ground up.

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Lady of the Most

‘and yet’ he wrote, ‘I never cease to marvel at the American spirit of Quest’.  He closed his laptop, and sat back listening carefully to the ladies in the first class seats next to him.  They had been plotting and planning on and off throughout the long flight.

His flight landed, and he did what he always did.  He sat and waited for all the passengers to leave the flight.  It has always been his personal ritual, a silent liturgy to fascination with humanity.  All the bumping and fighting to get out of the flight first, in a hurry – and then, the funereal wait at the gates to the world beyond.  USA soil could wait, the joy of feasting his eyes on the nit-witted blonde and her elderly companion, knowing that she was confident and stupid enough to not realize he had been taking notes of their plans towards establishing a witchcraft society which suited their needs.   Knowing that they did not recognize him, was worth it.  As they left their first class seats, in a hurry, Jonathan lent over and moved his bag.  ‘Desculpe’ he said, looking the doltish 50-something year old in the eyes.

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Sample Packs

‘I want to send them sample packs by the beginning of September’ Jonathan snarled.

Laughing by himself, he cackled stroking his graying hair. ‘may my weapons turn against me if I break this my solemn oath’.  This is not going to be hard.  Those oaths were taken with free will and accord, the ratification was clear. Not a piece of paper, but an oath to ancient spirits, the Old Ones who ruled this Earth long before our grandfathers were born.

‘No One ever comes here in ordinary clothes.’