[center][hider=The Three Witches][center][img]http://i.imgur.com/YUMof41.png[/img]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/YrrXjyo.png[/img]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/3qtsXeH.png[/img]
[/center][/hider][/center]
[center][h1][i]Medea’s Flight[/i][/h1][/center]

[center][b]Location: Aeaea, Capital of Colchis, Ancient Greece
Time: Midnight[/b][/center]
[hr]

[b][i][color=cornflowerblue]Historians, philosophers, and tragic poets have long told the tale of my flight from Corinth. Most famously, Euripides wrote of my husband’s betrayal, my agony and longing, my deceitful murder of his bride to be, and the murder of our sons by my hand. None of this, however, is to be taken as truth. 

Indeed, ‘twas I who dismembered my brother so that Jason and I could flee Colchis together, I who, with all my magic and cunning, gave Jason his fame, and I who, in my desperation, turned the people of Corinth against me. But it was my vile husband, Jason the Argonaut, who murdered his “beloved,” who slaughtered our children. Their deaths came by way of my craft, but were caused by his infidelity. And though it was common for Greek men to take more than one wife and custom for the first wife to sit idly by with his children and wealth, I neither was nor am a Greek. I am Medea, daughter of Aeetes and princess of Colchis, granddaughter of the Titan, Helios, and descendent of the mighty Gods, niece of Circe and sister of her mighty art, and humble servant of Hekate, the greatest of the immortals. I was no mere woman, no simple wife, but a witch. I would not be treated as anything other, but my damnable husband cared more for his culture than the one who pledged her eternal life and love to him . . . but I digress. 

I wish not to speak of my woes, for those have been extensively documented by men of many creeds, but to speak of my ecstasies and triumphs that followed soon after. These same men would have me bounce from one city to the next; from Corinth to Thebes, from Thebes to Athens, always chased away by the denizens therein. Some say that I helped the famed Heracles escape a curse from the Gods, others that I became a being of worship in Iran and other places. There is some truth in this. I did happen upon the demigod in Thebes and did bear a son in Athens. And I did return to Colchis with that son, Medus, who slew my traitorous uncle that had usurped my father’s throne. But then what became of me? Poets lost their muses, the Greeks lost their faith, and so the mysteries of the ancient world were no longer scribed. Yet I lived on, blessed by the agelessness of my parentage and my craft, and so follows the story that has never been written.[/color][/i][/b] 

[hr]

“[color=CornflowerBlue][i]Two parts powdered mandrake, one part ground rosebuds . . .[/i][/color]” Medea recited the formula from memory, dropping the reagents into a large, bubbling basin. Her auburn hair fell in tight curls over her exposed, pale shoulders. She wore a simple white tunic with a scarlet sash and went barefooted around the marble palace. 

“[color=CornflowerBlue][i]Two crushed myrtle berries, seven drops lavender oil . . .[/i][/color]” she continued, walking clockwise around the mixture as it boiled, dropping in each ingredient with care, stirring gently and taking in the sweet aroma. It filled the palace’s halls, grand structures built by the ensorcelled sailors who passed the island by, drawn in by siren song and bewitching nymphs, kept there in suspended age in forms alien and primal. 

“[color=CornflowerBlue][i]And three strands of a maiden’s hair. Simmer, strain, bottle, and bathe in the Moon’s rays at the height of her ascent for three nights.[/i][/color]” Medea did just this, setting the mixture on a balcony overlooking the sea, midnight cascading across the rolling waves, bouncing off the glistening walls of polished marble. Below, wolves howled in a jungle scene, but they did not run nor stir in excitement. Instead, they stood idle, on trace of the wild left in their veins. 

“[color=PaleVioletRed][i]A love spell?[/i][/color]” the question echoed through the halls and spires, rich, sultry, and highly melodic. In the corridor stood the sorceress, Kirke (Circe to the Romans), dawning a luxurious emerald fabric draped elegantly around her torso, a golden sash around her waist, with hair bright and golden like the son kept in place by a jeweled circlet. “[color=PaleVioletRed][i]Dearest niece, there are no men on this island, and the affections of the attending nymphs needn’t be gained by magic.[/i][/color]”

Medea laughed as she moved about the room, resting on a comfortable bench near the balcony. “[color=CornflowerBlue][i]’Tis not for my personal use, but for a friend.[/i][/color]”

Kirke scoffed. “[color=PaleVioletRed][i]Friend? What friends could you possibly possess?[/i][/color]” 

Medea looked hurt, briefly, then waved the comment away. 

“[color=PaleVioletRed][i]Oh, I meant nothing by it.[/i][/color]” Kirke apologized, sitting next to Medea and placing a hand on her shoulder. “[color=PaleVioletRed][i]But given your colorful past, I had reason to doubt that any would still call you their friend.[/i][/color]”

“[color=CornflowerBlue][i]’Tis for the daughter of an old maidservant of mine. Her mother has taken ill and she hasn’t the money to see her well.[/i][/color]”

Kirke squinted her eyes in confusion. “[color=PaleVioletRed][i]So you toil over a love potion instead of bringing the girl a medicinal salve or tonic?[/i][/color]”

Medea nodded. “[color=CornflowerBlue][i]The mother did not wish it of me. She asked that I grant her daughter peace after her death, so I shall do both with one spell. I shall give the daughter this potion before her mother’s death, have her woo whatever prince or warrior she desires, and with his fortune, aid the sickly mother. All are happy.[/i][/color]” 

Kirke grinned. “[color=PaleVioletRed][i]How cunning you are, Medea. Quite the testament to our kind.[/i][/color]”

“[color=CornflowerBlue][i]It is the work of our Mistress for gifting us such an art. To her I give all of my thanks and praise.[/i][/color]” 

The two took each other's hands, raised their heads, and closed their eyes, sending a silent prayer to the Mother of Witches. Soon after, a warm breeze entered the palace, bringing with it a piece of the night, a shadow given life. 

“[color=MediumPurple][i]My beautiful daughters[/i][/color]” the familiar voice emanated from the thick shadows, becoming a dark apparition, then turning swiftly into a most beloved form. Hekate had come to visit her most favored followers. 

And so Medea and Kirke received her well, and the pair become a triumvirate of witches. They spoke of those things that were held in the night, their midnight arts and craft of the wise. They sang and reveled in each other’s company, dancing to the rhythm of the waves crashing onto the land and the dull roars of docile beasts. They flew above Aeaea with bliss and ecstasy, filled with all the powers of heaven, earth, and sea. Such was the witches way. 

[hr]

[b][i][color=cornflowerblue]Such was our way in those forgotten days of old. Such was my night after my return to Colchis, the truest account of my flight from Corinth. This was how my days were spent after ridding myself of the loathsome Jason; in the company of those I held most dear. The next three centuries I spent here upon Aeaea, dancing the nights away with my aunt and our patron, selling my gifts to those whom I had known or those who knew of me. But eternity there grew tiresome. 

So I traveled. Riding upon the sands of time I spiraled on in a different guise, stopping in each new century to sing the praises of my lady and grant the needy or willing the knowledge of her art. I led many a wyrd in those years under different names, inspiring new poets with my magic, becoming their muse. Such was my way until the new millennia when I once again longed to be held by my greatest love, my mentor and mother in the craft. 

I sought her out and found her among her kind, and now we are together again. What magic will we unleash upon this new world? What is my lady’s greatest desire?[/color][/i][/b]