Merchant
Arizona, USA
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********COMING SOON!********
Scent Profile: Sandalwood, Burnt Sugar, Bourbon and Pumpkin, Oak Barrel Aged. An accord made up of earth and smoke, of life and death, of ritual and tradition: Blue Samhain.
The Legend Of Blue Samhain
![[Image: qGCemEO.jpeg]](https://i.imgur.com/qGCemEO.jpeg)
The air was crisp and sharp as the twilight of October settled upon the hills, a twilight that seemed to linger longer than usual as if time itself hesitated to pass into the darkened hours. The townsfolk of Arkham, a remote and mystery-laden, New England Village, bustled about with their annual preparations, for the eve of Samhain was upon them, a night of revelry and remembrance, when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead grew as thin as the present autumn mist.
Ah, Samhain, an ancient celebration, steeped in the dim memory of forgotten days, when the pagans, clad in robes of wool and crowned with the twisted branches of oak, walked the wild woods, chanting prayers to the gods who once ruled over the land. In those days, it was not merely a festival, but a time of deep reverence and trembling, when all manner of spirits and creatures were believed to wander freely beneath the cold blue moon, flitting through the darkened groves and fog-draped valleys.
Yet this Samhain, a strange new tale was whispered among the villagers, one that chilled the heart more than the usual superstitions of old. Over the past fortnight, the people of Arkham had reported seeing an object, unlike anything they had known, hovering silently in the hills just beyond the village. Some described it as a perfect black cube, larger than any man, floating without visible support, its edges sharp and unnatural against the autumn landscape. Others swore they had seen it shimmer orange, as if it blinked in and out of reality, present one moment, a flash the next. It was a thing of shadow and mystery, silent and forbidding, yet unmistakably there.
No one dared approach it, for though it did nothing to harm, it stirred something in the air, a sense of ancient power, something far older than even the pagans could have known. The elders muttered of faerie mischief or some trick of the Wendigo, but none could explain the eerie feeling that accompanied its presence. There was a rumor, passed in hushed tones, that the cube was a vessel, a traveler from some distant realm or perhaps another time, come to observe the village on this most mystical of nights.
As the story goes, long before the Christian bells began to toll and soften the ancient rituals, Samhain marked the boundary between summer’s light and winter’s long, dark grasp. The people of old would gather on hilltops to kindle great bonfires, their flames leaping into the night like souls set free, meant to ward off any wandering spirit too mischievous or malicious for mortal folk to handle. And it was to these same hilltops that the villagers now cast uneasy glances, wondering if the black cube would make its silent appearance tonight, as it had on the nights leading up to this one.
The old tales, passed down from generation to generation, spoke of that eerie night when the spirits of ancestors returned to the hearths of their descendants, drawn from the otherworld by the flickering blue candlelights set out in hollowed pumpkins and carved turnips, which they say was how the tradition of the jack-o'-lantern began. But this year, the lanterns burned with an added urgency, as if warding off not just the dead, but something far stranger.
As twilight deepened into night, the villagers gathered in the square, their faces illuminated by the leaping flames of the bonfire. Masks and capes fluttered in the cool wind, children laughing nervously, the shadows of their costumes stretching long across the cobblestones. Yet for all the festivity, there was an undercurrent of unease, a shared glance here, a murmur there. The villagers could feel it, the air was heavy, charged with the presence of something unseen but close, too close.
It was then, as the bonfire crackled and roared, that the black cube appeared once more.
It came not from the hills this time, but seemingly from the very air above them, descending silently through the night sky, its smooth, dark surface absorbing the firelight, giving nothing back. It hovered, impossibly still, just above the square, casting no shadow, no reflection, as if it existed outside the very laws of nature.
The crowd fell silent, staring upward in awe and fear. The flames of the bonfire flickered and sputtered as if the very air had been drawn thin by the cube’s presence. And in that silence, a low hum began to fill the air, not a sound so much as a feeling, deep in the bones, an ancient, cosmic hum, like the heartbeat of the universe itself.
Some said the cube was watching, though it had no eyes. Others swore it was waiting, though no one knew for what. But all felt its weight, its presence, as though it had come not just to observe but to bear witness to the rituals of Samhain, to the thinning of the veil.
In the old days, it was believed that the gods and spirits of the otherworld watched over Samhain, but now it seemed as though something far older, far stranger, had come to watch in their place. The villagers dared not move, dared not speak, as the cube hovered there, a dark sentinel over their ancient fires.
And then, just as quietly as it had arrived, the cube began to rise. Higher and higher it went, until it was lost among the stars, vanishing into the velvet sky as if it had never been there at all.
The fires burned on, the masks and laughter slowly returned, but no one would forget that night, when the black cube came down from the heavens to witness the rites of Samhain. And though the villagers would never know for sure what it was, or why it had come, they could feel it, somewhere, out in the vast reaches of the universe, the black cube continued its journey, collecting the scents of earth and smoke, of life and death, of ritual and tradition, a traveler through time and space, bound to no world but touching them all.
Thus, the tale of Samhain took on a new chapter, one of a floating cube that came from the stars and disappeared into the night, leaving behind only the lingering scent of a mystery and the fall season.
STAY TUNED SHAVE CADETS!
"This Fall, Try Something Different, Phoenix Shaving!"
#BlueSamhain #FallScent #SeasonalScent #OriginalScent #PhoenixShaving #PhoenixArtisanAccoutrements #CUBE #SciFiShave #AShaveNewWorld #TakeMeToYourLather #TrySomethingDifferent #MoreThanJustShaving
********COMING SOON!********
Scent Profile: Sandalwood, Burnt Sugar, Bourbon and Pumpkin, Oak Barrel Aged. An accord made up of earth and smoke, of life and death, of ritual and tradition: Blue Samhain.
The Legend Of Blue Samhain
The air was crisp and sharp as the twilight of October settled upon the hills, a twilight that seemed to linger longer than usual as if time itself hesitated to pass into the darkened hours. The townsfolk of Arkham, a remote and mystery-laden, New England Village, bustled about with their annual preparations, for the eve of Samhain was upon them, a night of revelry and remembrance, when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead grew as thin as the present autumn mist.
Ah, Samhain, an ancient celebration, steeped in the dim memory of forgotten days, when the pagans, clad in robes of wool and crowned with the twisted branches of oak, walked the wild woods, chanting prayers to the gods who once ruled over the land. In those days, it was not merely a festival, but a time of deep reverence and trembling, when all manner of spirits and creatures were believed to wander freely beneath the cold blue moon, flitting through the darkened groves and fog-draped valleys.
Yet this Samhain, a strange new tale was whispered among the villagers, one that chilled the heart more than the usual superstitions of old. Over the past fortnight, the people of Arkham had reported seeing an object, unlike anything they had known, hovering silently in the hills just beyond the village. Some described it as a perfect black cube, larger than any man, floating without visible support, its edges sharp and unnatural against the autumn landscape. Others swore they had seen it shimmer orange, as if it blinked in and out of reality, present one moment, a flash the next. It was a thing of shadow and mystery, silent and forbidding, yet unmistakably there.
No one dared approach it, for though it did nothing to harm, it stirred something in the air, a sense of ancient power, something far older than even the pagans could have known. The elders muttered of faerie mischief or some trick of the Wendigo, but none could explain the eerie feeling that accompanied its presence. There was a rumor, passed in hushed tones, that the cube was a vessel, a traveler from some distant realm or perhaps another time, come to observe the village on this most mystical of nights.
As the story goes, long before the Christian bells began to toll and soften the ancient rituals, Samhain marked the boundary between summer’s light and winter’s long, dark grasp. The people of old would gather on hilltops to kindle great bonfires, their flames leaping into the night like souls set free, meant to ward off any wandering spirit too mischievous or malicious for mortal folk to handle. And it was to these same hilltops that the villagers now cast uneasy glances, wondering if the black cube would make its silent appearance tonight, as it had on the nights leading up to this one.
The old tales, passed down from generation to generation, spoke of that eerie night when the spirits of ancestors returned to the hearths of their descendants, drawn from the otherworld by the flickering blue candlelights set out in hollowed pumpkins and carved turnips, which they say was how the tradition of the jack-o'-lantern began. But this year, the lanterns burned with an added urgency, as if warding off not just the dead, but something far stranger.
As twilight deepened into night, the villagers gathered in the square, their faces illuminated by the leaping flames of the bonfire. Masks and capes fluttered in the cool wind, children laughing nervously, the shadows of their costumes stretching long across the cobblestones. Yet for all the festivity, there was an undercurrent of unease, a shared glance here, a murmur there. The villagers could feel it, the air was heavy, charged with the presence of something unseen but close, too close.
It was then, as the bonfire crackled and roared, that the black cube appeared once more.
It came not from the hills this time, but seemingly from the very air above them, descending silently through the night sky, its smooth, dark surface absorbing the firelight, giving nothing back. It hovered, impossibly still, just above the square, casting no shadow, no reflection, as if it existed outside the very laws of nature.
The crowd fell silent, staring upward in awe and fear. The flames of the bonfire flickered and sputtered as if the very air had been drawn thin by the cube’s presence. And in that silence, a low hum began to fill the air, not a sound so much as a feeling, deep in the bones, an ancient, cosmic hum, like the heartbeat of the universe itself.
Some said the cube was watching, though it had no eyes. Others swore it was waiting, though no one knew for what. But all felt its weight, its presence, as though it had come not just to observe but to bear witness to the rituals of Samhain, to the thinning of the veil.
In the old days, it was believed that the gods and spirits of the otherworld watched over Samhain, but now it seemed as though something far older, far stranger, had come to watch in their place. The villagers dared not move, dared not speak, as the cube hovered there, a dark sentinel over their ancient fires.
And then, just as quietly as it had arrived, the cube began to rise. Higher and higher it went, until it was lost among the stars, vanishing into the velvet sky as if it had never been there at all.
The fires burned on, the masks and laughter slowly returned, but no one would forget that night, when the black cube came down from the heavens to witness the rites of Samhain. And though the villagers would never know for sure what it was, or why it had come, they could feel it, somewhere, out in the vast reaches of the universe, the black cube continued its journey, collecting the scents of earth and smoke, of life and death, of ritual and tradition, a traveler through time and space, bound to no world but touching them all.
Thus, the tale of Samhain took on a new chapter, one of a floating cube that came from the stars and disappeared into the night, leaving behind only the lingering scent of a mystery and the fall season.
STAY TUNED SHAVE CADETS!
"This Fall, Try Something Different, Phoenix Shaving!"
#BlueSamhain #FallScent #SeasonalScent #OriginalScent #PhoenixShaving #PhoenixArtisanAccoutrements #CUBE #SciFiShave #AShaveNewWorld #TakeMeToYourLather #TrySomethingDifferent #MoreThanJustShaving
“Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it we go nowhere.” ~ Carl Sagan