#cudgel

Character: Selkie

Version: Owl Head

Series: Final Fantasy : Crystal Chronicals

The day is falling on a wicked deed. A richer veil than sunbeams ever wove With woof of air for colour stricken greed Hangs sheer, where downward stacks of stairs recede, Each ever mauver than its fellow mauve.

But inward, and beyond the keen of those Who may behold this wonder if they will, Keep ward such armies, in a hush so still, The stair they stand on scarcely knows the throes Of their unanimous breathing. Thus, until.

The holy hour they wait upon shall knell, They curb the impatience of their harps, and hark; Which being struck, day like a stricken bell Shall shriek; and flee; and night cast down his fell; And more than earthly night shall night be dark.

Earth is a landscape, where an orange grove Has all the seeming of a labyrinth, Even as orange as the heaven is mauve; The sun is gold as heaven is hyacinth, As glowing as a founder's open stove.

An insolent pavilion blocks the right. Betwixt its golden curtains (fringed with gold) Peer wicked turbaned ruffians, shrunk and old; The grave sun smites the tent with level light, Firing its crest and gilding every fold.

So yellow this against the slothfulness Of one delicate vine, a purple-rain, Whose lilac clusters, heavily drooping, stain The tent's walls; the inquisitive tendrils press Into the opening, and turn back again.

Yet somewhat wanting to this colour-plot; Mauve heaven and orange earth are not enough; A swarm of hell stands by, a lurid spot; Their knotty limbs are fierce with scarlet stuff; Their rank hair veils their ears, which hearken not;

Their faces are all wrathful, drawn and swarth; Their bonnets are thrown back and feather-dressed; Cloaks thrown aside; one, younger than the rest, Too young for murder, hurries to and forth, Bolts in each hand and sticking in his vest.

O sin! their wicked feet help wicked hands To strain the tension of their stubborn bows. The captain, he who wears the reddest hose, Impatient, armed, and legs akimbo, stands Aiming, with one clinched eye and wrinkled nose.

Bright carnations leap From the bloodred soil Petals soon shall drip With Sebastian's spoil. Oh, that flowers should weep.

Pale Sebastian's feet Clutch the ground for strength; For his blood doth beat Through his body's length Feverish and fleet.

Eyes reluctant turn From the wicked crew; Eyes with love which burn For the ill they do, Heavenward must turn.

Yet his human skin Cannot choose but shrink, Shamed because of sin, Though upon the brink Martyr palm to win

----

Saint Sebastian

John Gray  1866-1934

----

This is a listing for a hand-made stave I’m currently selling. It was crafted from a length of Rowan wood, which was naturally engraved by the helical track of a Honeysuckle vine that wrapped around the limb as a sapling. It is hefty, approximately 42 inches long, and based on its shape and size, I would say that it’s best described as a shillelagh.

After the wood was ritualistically harvested, I sanded it down enough to smooth it, while revealing a lovely mottled coloration. Once I was satisfied with the texture of the wood, I proceeded to highlight the colors using a transparent stain that I infused with Rowan Blossoms and Rowan Berries, before thoroughly condition it with my specialty Wisefool’s Oil (which happens to be one of the very best wood finishing oils I’ve ever used.) Then finally, on the evening of the First Quarter, I sealed the rod using my homemade Dragon’s Blood varnish, and fumigated it with a smoke of Wood Betony and Wind Flowers.

Between the extremely rich history of the Rowan tree in magic and mythology, and the potent symbology of the Spiral which was naturally inscribed upon its flesh by the forces of nature, I believe this cudgel has the potential to be a powerful and loyal tool in the hands of the right practitioner, whether used as a ceremonial stave, a practical cane, or both.

My pricing is reasonably flexible, and I’m always happy to work out things like payment plans, so if you’re thinking you’d want to purchase this piece, then please feel free to reach out!

It just dawned on me that the Monkey King is able to use his iron staff in hell despite the physical weapon likely remaining with his body in the world of the living (ch. 3). Wouldn't this imply the staff has some kind of astral power, perhaps bordering on entanglement (it goes wherever he goes)? However, to my knowledge, this only happens once in the story, and the novel clearly demonstrates that he can't use the weapon if it’s physically taken away from him (e.g. ch. 51 & 88). I'll just chalk this up to inconsistencies born from oral storytelling. 

If true, within the mythic universe, the staff’s powers include:

Size Manipulation

Controlling the oceans

Astral entanglement

Multiplication

Lock-Picking

Transformation (i.e. changing into a razor)

Sentience

I’ve written an article complete with cited passages from the novel.