Arab Folklore Novels & Stories

This story is my personal contribution to the folklore I take pride in – the folklore of Kamarsuburi. Like any other folk-tale, in any part of the world, this has evolved through and enriched by the tradition of oral-storytelling over a number of years. My paternal and maternal grandmothers had their own versions of it, my mother her own, which at times, was quite in conflict with the versions of my grandmothers; there were bits and pieces of it that Nisim had passed over to me, just as people in our vicinity, during casual conversations, had passed on certain controversial parts of it. Those controversial parts, for the ease of your understanding, my dear reader, I will call rumours. This s

I ask, wondering how much I really don't know. "Not everything. Our sisters have changed the stories with time, turning them into fairytales and folklore. But to make it easier for the new vǫlur we like to keep some knowledge open in the real world". Gudrun explains. "I mean imagine if you hadn't even heard of a troll or an elf ?" "Well something like finding out what a hamram is". I mumble. After walking for a bit, I remember what the lantern man had said. "You were just told that I am dangerous to be around. How come you aren't scared ?"

Pierre said while slowly shaking his head with clear disbelief. “It’s happened before,” I volunteered as I did my best to stand as tall and erect as possible. It was my hope that, although I didn’t feel it, I would at least look commanding and knowledgably. “At least it did in folklore. And,” I asked a bit hesitantly as I faced Pierre’s accusing and scrutinizing gaze, “isn’t most folklore based on fact?” “Indeed it is,” Luthias said with a warm, grateful smile.

he said. After Ibekwe joined the rest of the children and sat down, the storyteller crossed his legs and opened his mouth and began to sing a song. The art of storytelling in Igbo land was as old as the language itself. Some of the folklores were derived from imaginations, history, fear, and strange beliefs in the ability of animals to speak, which added texture and beauty to the stories when told. Other stories were mere myths that were intended to scare children or dissuade them from doing a particular thing.

The first few lines are an introduction to her academic paper, and about three paragraphs down I find what I'm looking for. It's widely acknowledged that the myth of the Creeslough Sea Maid is endemic to the northernmost villages of Ireland, but variations of the story can be found as far South as Kilkeel. The fable is assumed to be more than three thousand years old, and has long fascinated scholars of Celtic folklore – both for its longevity in oral tradition, and for its links to several older, more obscure mythologies. Each telling of the tale varies, but the central theme is always that of a sea witch or sorceress who finds or kidnaps a beautiful girl, and raises her until fate interven

For that… could kill them. The little orphans of the slums bundled together, a hand for each ear. They remembered the old myth and deemed it the cause. It was one of the oral folktales of Antacast, passed from one generation to another. The demigods of lightning and thunder fighting again for the wind goddess’ favor, as the old tales had told.

She finally managed to speak out some words. “It is a story that has been handed down through generations of our kind. We generally find that all folklore comes from a grain of truth but regardless, it is a starting point we can use to begin to decipher your bloodline” Luna carefully places a bookmark between the pages and shut the book, placing it on the small tee table in front of her. Luna suddenly noticed they Valerie is perplexed with all that she has been storying to her, she decided to change the topic. Veda was losing herself in the story.

Jared revealed, Aghogho giggled, he took one step towards Jared, “Are you talking about the history book of the Beast kingdom written by a so called ancient Forest Nymph, where the Beast in the bottomless hole is located? See you. It was all a lie, the stories, Dragons, the Beast in the bottomless hole. They are all fables we say to our cubs at moonlight stories.” “Are we? Are we fables?!” Jared asked. Aghogho groaned suddenly his appearances changed as he grew bigger, wilder and hairier, his nails grew sharper and his canine teeth also as he thudded towards Jared.

I wasn’t in the mood for socialising. I ate slowly, mentally planning out my day. I’d been drafting an essay about how useful folklore was in modern life; mostly creating mind maps and beginning to search for sources. I wanted to look into tribal folktales, investigating how tradition has been passed down through generations to teach the children of today. Wolfic folklore is intrinsically entangled with Native American folklore, so my research crossed over, often making it harder for me to pin down references that I could use.

Among the Werewolves, the prevailing belief was that true mates were nothing more than fictional narratives, a figment of imagination never realized in reality. The subject of true mates remained shrouded in mystery, even when inquired of the moon goddess herself. Instead of offering clarity, she responded with enigmatic smiles, perpetuating the confusion among the Werewolves. Yet, the very idea of having a true mate intrigued Arabella profoundly. Legends suggested that these unions were predestined by the moon goddess herself, forging an unbreakable bond between two souls. Even after death, they remained inseparable, destined to be reborn repeatedly, eternally seeking their mate in each new