Episode 176: Rooted

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Have you ever noticed just how many holidays there are?

Not just the major ones, but all the smaller annual celebrations that seem to fill up the year.

I'm not complaining per se, but it does seem like there are more of them than there were in my childhood, and it's honestly hard to keep them all straight.

But before we go and assume that this is a problem unique to our modern culture, let me point out how history has a way of repeating itself.

Because if you were to climb into a time machine, zip back to first century Rome, and ask around, you might discover the same sort of confusion.

Take for example, the festival of Lucaria.

It took place around the 20th of July each year at a specific location on a wooded hill just just outside of the city.

But who the festival was meant to honor and why are answers that are lost to history, and even the Romans weren't too sure.

But modern historians have been trying to put the pieces of the puzzle back together and they're closer to the full picture.

It seems that deeper in Rome's past, it was believed that people shouldn't just clear a forest for farming without first asking permission.

Writing about 2,200 years ago, Roman historian Cato described how it was important to to sacrifice a pig inside the woods and then pray to whatever spirit ruled over that place.

In doing so, they sort of bought the rights to develop the land.

Over time, that occasional tradition turned into an annual festival.

But hidden inside this ritual was a darker notion, that the spirits of the forest might not approve of having their home destroyed, and that they had the power to protect that kingdom.

In other words, the woods were not a safe place, and to trespass there was to invite suffering into one's life.

The idea wasn't unique back then or even today.

Around the world, countless cultures have viewed the forest as a place of darkness and danger.

From the foot of Mount Fuji to the depths of Germany, people all throughout history have looked at the shadows between the trees as the home of something to be avoided at all cost.

The woods have always been a place that demand respect.

Whether the true danger comes from ancient forest deities or the inherent risk of entering the wilderness unprepared, the best course of action might just be to never step foot inside at all.

Because if we do, we might not come back out.

I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is lore.

There's something special about the forest.

I have crystal-clear memories of exploring the woods around my home as a child, and even though I've grown up and learned a lot about the world around me, those memories are still filled with magic.

In a lot of ways, stepping inside those trees felt like entering a whole other world.

And it would be safe to assume that it's always been like that.

Cultures around the world have treated the woods like sacred ground and filled its darkness with all sorts of stories, along with creatures and traditions to keep in mind.

They have been seen as a place of rest and solitude, and of magic and wonder, but with danger and mystery always lurking not far behind.

One of the primary ways that cultures around the world have processed this instinctive respect is by connecting the forest to their religious beliefs.

The forest has served as a sort of liminal space, one that sits between heaven and earth, and a great example is found in the sacred texts of India.

According to Hindu mythology, there is a great cosmic forest, and at the center of it is the mighty tree known as jambu.

On this tree grows an immortal golden fruit as large as an elephant, and from this fruit, a divine ambrosia is crafted by the physician of the gods.

Beyond that, the woods feature heavily in the life of students of the Hindu scriptures.

Each student can choose from one of four orders to shape their future around, and those that pick the way of the hermit end up making the forest a part of their very essence.

They live in the woods, draw everything they need from it, and never return to the outside world.

In fact, this was said to be the very path taken by the Buddha.

In Christianity, there are many connections to the forest.

The Garden of Eden, for example, is a woodland paradise where heaven and earth seem to melt together.

It was said to be filled with trees, most famously the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

But it was also a place of danger where Adam and Eve encountered the serpent and were ultimately expelled.

Far to the north, the Old Norse religions also held the forest in high esteem.

The most obvious example would be the world tree, Yggdrasil, which was believed to stand at the center of the universe.

Beneath its roots are the three worlds of hell, humans, and the frost giants.

But the woods have done more than simply act as a setting for stories.

Throughout history, cultures have viewed the forest as a place for testing and opportunity.

We can even find this in the world's oldest written story, the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In it, we learn about the sacred forest of Cedar, far beyond the world of humans.

And it's to this forest that Gilgamesh travels in order to prove himself by defeating the legendary ogre Humbaba.

The hero's friend and companion, Inkidu, tries to warn him off, telling him how dangerous the woods can be, but Gilgamesh refuses to be swayed.

In the end, he succeeds, returning from his test in the woods as a hero known for his courage.

Now that's all well and good, but you and I might connect better with stories recorded by the Grimm Brothers.

Just stop and think about how many of them feature the forest in some way.

The tales of Hansel and Gretel, Little Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty, and so many others all depend heavily on the dangers of the woods.

An interesting theme in many of the Grimm Brothers stories is that the forest is never an enchanted space, but it's a place where enchantment might take place.

It acts like a location separated from normal social practices, and stepping inside can help a person alter their life's path, for good or for bad.

But perhaps one of the most widely known stories with the forest at its core are the tales that make up the Arthurian legends.

Now, most people have heard of King Arthur, and the key elements of the story are just as famous.

The Grail, the Knights of the Round Table, Merlin, the Lady of the Lake, and the Sword Excalibur.

But the nuances of those stories are less well known.

For example, one location that features heavily in many of the stories is the forest of Broselyon.

It's said to be the place where Merlin encountered Vivian, the lady of the lake, and fell in love with her.

She was said to have imprisoned him there as well, entombed beneath a large stone.

The forest is also the place where the most famous of Arthur's knights, Lancelot, was said to have been raised.

According to early versions of the legends, Lancelot was taken from his mother as a baby by a beautiful woman.

She was said to have plunged into a lake with him, inside which was an entire forest, where he was raised and trained to be the great knights that all the stories describe him as.

But above all the forest-related stories in the Arthurian legend, few are as terrifying as the dangerous creatures known as the Corrigan.

They were said to resemble beautiful young women and would appear to travelers passing through the woods, usually beside fresh water springs or rivers.

But with the Corrigan, all was not as it seemed.

She was said to have the power to capture the hearts of even the bravest and most noble of men, and once they fell in love with her, they were forever bound to the forest, never seen again.

In other stories, Corrigan lures brave men to the illusion of a great castle.

These knights would enter and find her inside and then fall in love.

When morning arrived though, the castle would be gone and Corrigan would have transformed into an old hag.

The stories of Corrigan serve as a warning to travelers.

Enter the forest at your own peril, they seem to say, or else you might be tempted by a magical being and never allowed to leave.

Corrigan is a literary figure that speaks to the danger of the forest and to the risks one takes upon entering.

But amazingly, she's not the only one.

Few places can be as dangerous as the forest.

Between the wild animals, deadly plants, and difficult terrain, making your way through the woods can be a journey filled with risk.

And then, when you consider just how easy it is to confuse one tree with another, it becomes clear how people can step inside and lose their way.

The forest can be confusing, and even today, in our modern world, hundreds of hikers get lost each year because they assume it's just a walk.

In Scandinavian folklore, there are countless warnings to help people avoid that danger.

The forest was frequently referred to with names like dark wood or murky wood, and children were often were warned not to step into the woods alone.

But right at the edge of all that folklore are stories of something more sinister.

The Skogsroa.

Think of the Skogsroa as a supernatural forest creature who has always lived in the forests of northern Europe.

It's a belief that predates the presence of Christianity in those cultures, hinting back to a much older time.

And the purpose of the Skogsroa is quite simple, to prevent those who have entered the woods from ever leaving again.

One of the most frightening descriptions of the Skogsroa is that she looks like a beautiful young woman from the front, but from behind she is a rotted log or a hollowed out tree.

But the folklore makes it clear that they can shapeshift to whatever form they want, such as animals or even rocks or tree stumps, all in an effort to capture travelers when they least expect it.

Her powers go beyond that, though.

The Skugs Roa was said to be able to alter the environment to look different.

She can hide trails or create fake ones.

Think of her as a sort of master of the maze, and every time a traveler stepped into her domain, she would be there to confuse and trap them, laughing all the while in her high, shrill voice.

About a century ago, a man named Albert Erickson spoke with a folklorist who was recording stories about about the Skogs Rowa and shared an experience from earlier in his life.

The man recalled an evening when he needed to step outside and check on his charcoal kiln, which was located down by the lake, so he set out sometime after sunset.

But although he was incredibly familiar with the area, he soon got lost.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking in circles, and from roughly 8 p.m.

until 2 in the morning, that's all he was able to do.

And that's when he realized that he was dealing with a Skogs Rowa.

Folklore had a solution, though.

He stopped and took off his coat, rolled it up and then put it on the roots of a nearby tree.

Then he lay down, rested his head on the coat, and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, he stood back up, and the way home was clearly visible for the first time in hours.

Far to the west, across the North Sea, This folklore about creatures in the forest who refused to let you leave had deep roots of its own.

All across the British Isles, there were stories of the fairy folk.

Although let me be upfront here.

Fairy folklore is like a cut gem.

Every time you turn it, you see a new facet, a new spin on the old tales.

Every culture and kingdom seemed to have their own unique lore.

So what I cover today is just one slice of a much larger pie.

English folklore had this fantastic term for someone who got lost in the woods.

They called them pixi-led, suggesting that travelers who got lost only did so because they trespassed into fairy lands, and getting lost was the price they had to pay.

In other stories, those travelers might get lost on their own, but the only way they can leave the forest is if the fairies help by revealing the way home.

Which has given way to a term I can't help but love, the stray sod.

It's a phrase that refers to a ground or path that fairies have enchanted, causing trespassers to lose their way.

Like a lot of folklore, there is absolutely no proof connecting the disorientation to actual fairies, but it happens so frequently that people all across the British Isles just sort of assumed the connection was there.

After all, why else would people become lost?

And there's a powerful story from about a century ago that documents just how real this belief truly was.

In June of 1916, the rector of a parish church in Ireland, a man named Reverend Harris, received word that one of his parishioners needed him.

Now, Harris had lived in County Leitrim for many years, and he knew the landscape well.

The trip that he was about to take was seven miles by road, but it was a winding road and considering how late in the evening he was setting out, he knew he wanted to trim that distance a bit and he knew how to do that.

A shortcut.

A little less than a mile down the road was a large clearing that some referred to as seven acre field.

It was this large contained area of grass surrounded on all sides by one continuous tall hedge and a deep ditch inside, with an ancient thorn tree standing tall in the center.

And if he passed through this field, he could cut over half of his travel time, which was a significant incentive.

So when he arrived at the field, Reverend Harris swung open the wooden gate and stepped inside.

From there, the path was simple.

Walk directly across the field, past the ancient thorn tree, and find the smaller gate on the other side.

But when he got there, the gate was nowhere to be seen.

Now, it was dark, and he was willing to admit that he might have aimed poorly, so he began to search along the tall hedge for the missing gate.

But try as he might, he couldn't.

I want to pause for a second here and make a personal observation.

I've done a fair amount of walking through the countryside of England, and I know what an Iron Age hill fort looks like.

Places like Uffington Castle come to mind.

These old hill forts commonly have a border around them consisting of an outer hill and an inner ditch.

and Ireland has its own fair share of them too.

But over the centuries since they were abandoned, these forts have taken on their own legends.

In Ireland, many were viewed as fairy rings, places of mystery and power that clearly had something to do with the fairies.

And when I read the description of the field Reverend Harris was trying to pass through, I can't help but think of those ancient forts.

Perhaps without knowing it, he had stepped into a fairy ring, or at least a place with that sort of connotation.

Frustrated and confused, Harris eventually decided that he had simply gotten his directions wrong and marched back to the main wooden gate he had entered through earlier.

But when he reached the spot, his anxiety rose.

The gate wasn't there.

And that meant without a way to exit, he was trapped.

According to Reverend Harris later, this confusing adventure went on for hours.

At one point, he walked the entire circumference of the field, his hand brushing the hedge, and found no trace of either gate.

Gates that had been there for decades.

centuries, perhaps.

And then, just as quickly as they had disappeared, the gates returned.

One moment they were missing, and the next, there they were.

As quick as he could, Harris exited the field and returned home.

He decided that it would be safer to use his bicycle and the main road to complete his journey, and as far as we know, he had no further troubles.

These stories, and the folklore behind them, are fascinating for a couple of reasons.

First, they show us just how deeply held the belief in stray sod and enchanted forests really was.

but they also provide something else.

Context.

Because I have one last tale to tell you, one that brings all of these ideas home.

And while it would have been an entertaining one to hear as a standalone story, having all of this historical context only deepens the scope of the adventure.

And it makes something else clear.

Just how afraid we should be.

Caroline was born in 1822 in the ancient legendary American city of Salem, Massachusetts.

She was born there, raised there, and spent the first couple decades of her adult life there.

After a number of years in Boston, though, she returned to Salem and spent the last few years of her life writing down the stories of her youth on the North Shore.

Her stories are best read while imagining her well into her 80s, entertaining a room full of younger relatives.

The children would all gather around to hear what Caroline had to tell them, and her tales were always full of humor and thrills.

One of them, though, stands out to me as both powerful and frightening, and I hope it's never forgotten or lost to time.

The story begins with her childhood and the summers spent a few miles from Salem in the town of Beverly.

Back then, the town had a large wooded area known as the Beverly Commons.

There's not much of it left today, cut up by development, highways, and railroad tracks, but there's enough still there to give you a feel for what it might have been like.

But back when Caroline was growing up, the Beverly Commons went by a different name, the Witch Woods.

It was the Witch Woods because that's what locals tended to call mysterious places in the early 19th century.

It was the Witch Woods because it was near Salem and there had been a rumor that Giles Corey, one of the accused witches from the Salem trials, had hid out there for a time.

And in the center of the Witch Woods, according to the legend, sat the Witch Farm.

Because anything else just wouldn't make sense, would it?

Now, Caroline's family owned a summer home called Thistlewood that sat very near the Witch Woods.

And it was there in 1841 that she and two of her friends left the safety of their house and walked into those mysterious woods.

Caroline was 19 at the time, and with her was her 10-year-old cousin Nani and Nani's governess, Lucy Ann.

Together they headed deep into the forest, following the well-worn trail through the trees.

Caroline recalled the experience beginning pleasantly enough.

The north shore of Boston in the summer can be a glorious place to be, and even in Beverly you can smell the ocean on the wind.

But at some point they stepped off the path to rest beside a grove of hemlock trees.

It was a lovely pause in their casual hike through the woods.

They ate some cookies that Lucy Ann had brought along for the walk.

They chatted about life and everything they hoped to do that summer.

And then, when they were done, they stood back up.

When they did, though, they noticed something odd.

The trail was gone.

They searched in the direction they thought they had come from and found nothing but more forest.

They circled around the hemlocks, thinking maybe they'd gotten their directions confused, but still, No sign of the main path.

They even tried pushing through some of the undergrowth to spot it, but despite having walked in on a well-marked trail, that trail was now gone.

Finally, in a moment of frustration, they all just stopped and listened, and that was when they caught the sound of the ocean on the wind.

An idea occurred to them.

If they could at least reach the nearby shore, they would certainly find their way home.

At least, that was the idea.

The witch woods, however, had a mind of their own.

After 10 minutes of walking toward the sounds of the crashing waves, they realized they hadn't even left the hemlock grove, grove, however impossible that seemed to be.

They didn't give up though, and after one last attempt, they managed to arrive someplace new.

But it wasn't the ocean.

It was a clearing.

And that clearing wasn't empty either.

According to Caroline, in the middle of the open space in the trees, they could all clearly see the remains of an old stone cellar, a broken chimney, and a collection of flowering bushes that had long since taken over.

It was an image that tickled something in the back of Caroline's mind.

This house, she thought, must have been the witch farm.

They spent a few moments there, enchanted by the wonder of the old place.

I can imagine them exploring the ruins, nudging rocks over with their feet to see what treasures lay beneath them, maybe even picking something up to examine.

But it was just a temporary respite from their problem.

Finally, in the tree line across the clearing, the youngest girl found another path, and they all followed it out in hopes that it might lead them home or to the ocean.

This trail wound uphill, though, until it finally stopped above the trees, and looking back, they realized that they could still see the clearing.

But something was different about it this time.

The house had returned.

Caroline described it beautifully in a book she published later in life.

Cows were grazing in a small green meadow, she later wrote.

Hens and chickens and ducks were clamoring for their dinner around an open door with a broad stone doorstep.

Clothes were hanging on a line in the yard, and milk pans were shining in the sun.

It was idyllic and peaceful and almost magical, and all three of them were pulled into the vision.

Then, as they watched smoke billowing from the chimney and the animals move about the yard, A woman stepped into the open doorway and tossed handfuls of grain to the chickens that had gathered there.

And that's when Lucy Ann had an idea.

They could return and ask the woman for help in getting home.

Being the oldest of the three, she told the others to stay on the hill and then vanished back down the trail.

Caroline and Nani watched the house down below for a long time before Lucy Ann returned, but the expression on her face told them everything they needed to know.

I could not find the clearing again, she told them.

She did, however, find a dried-up stream bed and assuming it flowed to the ocean, suggested they follow it to see where it might lead them.

A short while later, they emerged from the witch woods onto a rough old road and followed it back to the safety of Thistlewood.

The forest, like so many others around the world, had tried to contain them and for a time it had actually worked.

Whether they had been pixie-led or stepped on stray sod, we can never know for sure.

But their experience certainly teaches us one thing.

The forest is something that will always demand our respect.

And a healthy dose of fear.

There aren't many places left in the world where mystery still finds a home.

We wish that weren't the case, and all it takes is a few minutes of browsing your favorite streaming video platform to confirm that.

People love the shadows and all the secrets they hold.

And maybe that's one of the biggest reasons why the forest has mesmerized humans for thousands of years.

Outside, we can see most of the dangers of our world long before they reach us.

But once we cross that boundary, we leave all of that safety behind and enter a world of mystery and the unknown.

Oh, and more than a bit of danger.

As I mentioned earlier, Caroline Howard King's record of her mysterious hike through the forest was included in her book, When I Lived in Salem.

In it, she adds a small afterword to the story.

Apparently, one of the guests staying at Thistlewood that summer was a young man named James Russell Lowell, who was only three years her senior.

Lowell, of course, would go on to become one of America's best-known romantic poets.

He and his small circle of friends would later be known as the Fireside Poets, a group that would include Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, John Greenleaf Whittier, and Rolf Waldo Emerson.

At the time of his visit to Thistlewood, though, he was 22, engaged to be married, and still looking for a job.

In her story, Caroline claims that she told Lowell about her experience, and that he was so enchanted by the details of the story that he later returned to the Witchwoods with them to try and find the farm again.

But apparently, they were never successful.

If the Witch Farm still stands at the center of the Beverly Commons today, it's just as hidden from our modern view as it was in the days of Caroline's adventure.

And that's to be expected, I suppose.

Over time, things tend to get forgotten, or overlooked, or lost.

Most of the time, we only really see what we want to.

If Caroline's story is any indication, though, there could be another reason we can't find it.

Someone, or something,

won't let us.

Obviously, forests hold a special place in many stories from folklore.

Most of the time, they serve as a powerful setting, but every now and then it also becomes one of the main characters.

Which leads me to something I want to share with you.

I've been working on a project over the past year that aims to tick all the boxes you love.

Terrifying folklore, supernatural mystery, and a whole lot of drama, all set in the woods.

Together with Lauren Shippin, the creator of The Bright Sessions, I've built a brand new audio fiction podcast, and it's called Bridgewater.

And the cast is something to behold.

The show stars Misha Collins, better known as Castielle from Supernatural, alongside Melissa Ponzio from Teen Wolf.

And along the way, we'll meet other characters played by amazing folks like Nathan Fillion, Hillary Burton Morgan, Will Wheaton, Jonathan Joss, and Kristen

Bridgewater arrives on Friday, August 6th, with the first two episodes, and then we'll run weekly after that until the 10th and final episode of the season.

To make sure you don't miss out, be sure to subscribe in Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app, Spotify, or wherever it is that you listen to podcasts.

It's an incredible story brought to life by an equally incredible cast.

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Who are you?

What do you want?

Mrs.

Becker.

I won't ask you again, who are you and what do you want?

My name is Jeremy Bradshaw.

Oh my God.

So you are.

Have we met?

A very, very long time ago.

How old are you now?

50?

45, actually, but thanks.

I was never good with kids, they all look the same to me.

We met when I was a kid.

You don't remember, huh?

I don't.

I'm sorry.

Oh, trust me.

Shouldn't be sorry.

Better off.

Why?

Okay, so now that I know who you are, do you want to come in and tell me what you want?

Um,

yeah, that does look like it's about to rain.

You worked on my dad's case.

I was on the force at the time, yeah.

When did you retire?

Nearly 15 years ago.

I did my 20 years of service, a couple of years at the desk, and then got out.

Wasn't the friendliest career for a woman, you know, especially in the 80s and 90s, and especially after...

Yeah, I can imagine.

But you still go back there every couple of months?

Who told you that?

I was down at the station earlier today

picking up this.

Where did you get this?

Some hikers found it in the woods.

Oh.

And what else did they find?

Nothing.

Mrs.

Becker.

Ms.

Never married.

Not that it matters.

I just...

Just call me Ann.

Ann, are you still looking into my father's case?

That case is closed.

Yeah, but that's not what I asked.

What do you want from me?

I just want to know why you've come back to the station recently.

I just talked to Officer Batista.

Maria, she's a nice girl.

Smart.

Yeah, she told me that you've been trying to get Captain Haddock to reopen the case.

You remember the satanic panic, don't you?

Yeah, of course.

Evangelical Christians spreading fear about satanic rituals throughout America.

It's an interesting conspiracy phenomenon, actually, because...

Well, I would think the thing that would interest you about it is the fact that it's what they blamed your dad's disappearance on.

Yeah,

but he was investigating a satanic cult, wasn't he, that was active in the Freetown Forest.

He wouldn't have been the first person to get lost in there, and it's completely plausible that the cult found him and murdered him.

But either way, blaming it on a cult makes sense.

There's nothing about what happened to Thomas that makes sense.

You think that you understand these woods, but I, I have lived next to them for 45 years.

Strange things were happening back then, and strange things are happening again now.

And all those fools down at the station,

they won't admit it.

Okay, I see what this is.

What?

What are you talking about?

You know, I remember all sorts of kooks calling and coming to our home and trying to convince my mother that her husband was the victim of some sort of monster in the forest.

I got to say, I would have thought a police officer would be above that sort of wild theorizing, but I guess I was wrong.

Uh-huh.

So they told you that I was crazy, right?

Didn't they?

The police?

They said it back then, too, when I didn't buy into the panic, when I thought maybe there was more going on.

I was dismissed.

Okay,

what more do you think was going on?

I mean, you know that there's never been any substantiated evidence of satanic ritual abuse.

Like you said, it was the Christian fundamentalists.

American values gone completely haywire.

Paranoia getting the best of us.

Paranoia got the best of the Freetown police, too.

There was evidence of cult activity in the woods.

Yeah, hippie gatherings mostly.

All the actual animal mutilations came later, though

that is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what goes on around here.

Cool.

So what do you think happened?

A Papuaji got him.

Maybe a thunderbird came and took him away?

Well, I think there's a lot that we don't know about.

You know, monsters, wormholes, witchcraft.

This is a strange place.

This part of the country, you know.

Just before Thomas went missing, this area got a name for itself.

Yeah, the Bridgewater Triangle.

Yeah.

I teach folklore at the university.

Now,

why would you want to go and do that after growing up with all those kooks turning your father's disappearance into something it so clearly wasn't?

Okay, I should go.

Thank you.

Wait.

Don't forget this.

You might want to go to the lake.

Take a look around.

I'm sure the police missed something.

Wait a second.

How did you know that this was found at the lake?

Well, where else would it have turned up?

I'm sorry.

I don't.

I told you.

Strange things are happening.

Okay.

Can I just ask you what this

doesn't look like it's been in the woods for 40 years, does it?

It sure doesn't.

No, okay.

Uh, I gotta go.

Thanks, Miss Becker.

Ann, sorry.

I uh I will uh

just here.

It's my home phone number.

I still use a landmine, no self-service out here.

I've actually had the same tape machine since the 70s.

They don't make things like they used to.

What's up?

Oh, uh, nothing.

I just, uh, the message light, it wasn't on when I got home, and the phone hasn't rung all evening, so.

Maybe I finally gave up the ghost after 40 years.

Maybe.

You need to be careful, Brad Shaw.

Things aren't what they seem.

Right, while I will get out of your hair.

Call me.

When you want to know more, you call.

Sure.

Thanks.

Well, it looks like you were right.

Seems like there is a storm on the way.

You have one unheard message.

And

what?

And you need to help.

Blake,

you were right.

It isn't what it seems.

It's happening again.

And it will all end this time.

One way or another.

This episode of Lore was written and produced by me, Aaron Mankey, with research by Sam Alberty and music by Chad Lawson.

Lore is much more than just a podcast.

There is a book series available in bookstores and online, and two seasons of the television show on Amazon Prime Video.

Check them both out if you want more lore in your life.

I also make an executive produce a whole bunch of other podcasts, all of which I think you'd enjoy.

My production company, Grim and Mild, specializes in shows that sit at the intersection of the dark and the historical.

You can learn more about all of those shows and everything else going on over in one central place, grimandmild.com.

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And when you do, say hi.

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And as always, thanks for listening.