Arabian Folklore Novels & Stories

Shango simply laughed and danced to the fast tempo of the bata drum, the crowd stared mesmerized afraid to blink else they missed the graceful spectacle dancing before them as the bards began to sing. Here comes Arabambi the stone chucker One who possess names like the chameleon's many robes Those who ask who he is beware Lest you bring his attention upon you For they say the king is no more Follow not the foolhardy in mocking his demise Saying the king has hanged On the stocky branches of Ayan Like Ayan would dare do what other great trees could not Iroko the mighty king of trees groaned under his weight Araba the lofty bents it ancient trunks in submission

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 don’t understand." Horan sighed softly. He exhaled and explained, “Well, the Folklore world exists because Master Turtle was a being that remembers the forgotten ones. He keeps them alive by remembering who they are. He travels every realm to spread stories of legends and myths to those who never heard of them. The passing of stories is the energy that keeps folklore world a world that we know now.” Delton stayed mum. The explanation was unexpected. “So, you want me to take over Master Turtle’s role now?”

Alpha Arva said and Alpha Kalil responded with a subtle laugh. “I don’t mind at all. As long as everyone is enjoying,” Alpha Kalil responded, “But I have heard from my uncle, an excellent writer, the story of a drunkard painted wolf fighting a huge monster in the sea. I wish to know if it’s true or simply a tale spoken by an old tongue?”

' Somto chuckled and picked up the baby, going to seat on a long chair. 'Speaking of stories,' he said. 'Do you guys wanna hear a traditional folklore instead?' 'Yes, please!' said the children, excited to hear an Igbo folklore for the first time. They quickly went to find places to seat. Somto adjusted Baby Kanayo on his laps with a smile and cleared his throat. 'Once upon a time . . .' *(Also 'Oyinbo') A Caucasian; a white person.

Every time it was her father’s turn to tell her bedtime stories, he would always tell her the stories of the myths or legends of folklore, which she always enjoyed. Her father said that once upon a time, there was a tribe called the Marinaya tribe. Marinaya tribe comes from the name of the Goddess of Moon that the tribe worshiped. In the Marinaya tribe, there were different groups – the royalties or the family of the tribe leaders, the warriors, the manggagaway (or the sorcerer, or wizard), and the servants.

Nurul Islam played with Abrar, bounced him on his knee, told him a story: "Once there was a king. He had a very beautiful queen. They had a sweet little treasure, named Abrar. The king made some mistakes, and he had to live in the forest. But every day, the little treasure would come to the forest, take the king's hand, and say, 'Father, come home.'" Abrar clapped his hands, understanding nothing, yet delighted to hear his grandfather's story. At the final moment, Nurul Islam kissed Abrar's forehead and handed him back to Raisa. Then he embraced Arian. "I must go back. If they give me leave on his next birthday, I'll come again. If not, I'll send letters. Arian, you taught me how to live aga

0 "Grandfather used to tell us stories of them, don't you remember? Why, those stories would keep us up for hours." 0 "What were they about?" Roman asks and Gia's face lights up. 0 "Roman, darling! How lovely to hear your voice." 0 "You too, Gia. Can you tell us more about these stories of yours?" He asks and she chuckles. 0 "Our Grandfather loved to scare us as children. Ahriman and Lamia were a pair of evil spirits. Ahri was the king of destruction and darkness and Lamia, or Amia as Grandfather called her, was a child eating demon queen. All stories revolved around how they would find naughty enchanted children and force them to do terrible things to cast spells for the underworld. They wo

I sighed as I shook my head no. “Such tales are simply that, tales. Most tribes don’t believe in stories like these. Hell, the ruby wolf pack just found out that they weren’t actually werewolves but shifters. These are just old and forgotten folklore. We’ll get no aid in this venture. Besides, the only ones that know anything about Anubis and his whereabouts are within this tribe.” “That’s why Gallant has returned. I heard he was a big help when your father tried to overthrow the other tribes.” Chaze comments, to which I nodded my head in agreement.

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