[center][hider=Cast][img]http://i.imgur.com/o4GEt67.jpg?1[/img] [img]http://i.imgur.com/K0DKhVL.jpg?1[/img] [img]http://i.imgur.com/hHNa1r8.png?2[/img][/hider][/center] [center][h1][i]Witching Hour[/i][/h1] [h3][i]Part IV[/i][/h3][/center] [center][b]Location: Las Vegas, Nevada, The Witches Stronghold Time: 3 a.m., Day after LHU Attack[/b][/center] [hr] [color=gray][center][i]”Black spirits and white, red spirits and grey, Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may. Round, around, around, about, about, All ill come running in, all good keep out. Here's the blood of a bat. Put in that, oh, put in that. Here's libbard's bane. Put in again. The juice of toad, the oil of adder. Those will make the younker madder. Put in; there's all, and rid the stench. Nay, here's three ounces of the red-hair'd wench. Round, around, around, about, about, All ill come running in, all good keep out.”[/i][/center][/color] The Witching Hour heralds the arrival of malediction. Within the hour, when God’s light is driven from faithful hearts, stolen unto waiting arms by night’s black agents, and Heaven’s fire becomes the cunning flame, is when she, the Queen of Night, is at her peak. And she is not alone. And the mad dance begins. The wheel turns sunwise, thrice about, invoking the ills of this world that lie dormant on the fringe of society, between the civilized and the unknown. Here the Great Sabbath yearns for attendees, feeds their fire and consumes their flame all at once, all at the command of the Witch-Mother, leader of this ungodly procession. At every corner the Guardians stand ready like points on a compass: The hare, the raven, the serpent, and the toad. Gathered at the hour and place of their choosing are the most powerful of the Four remaining families of old, whose hold over Las Vegas and the state have begun to wane. The Four heads come together; Syrena Rowan, Aaron Wright, Cassandra Loyal, and Genevieve Lachance. In their shadow are four accompanying witches from their respective lines. Hekate, their queen, towers above them in full sorcerous glory, assuming her truest form. Beneath her, Medea, witch of Corinth, gathers the gifts brought forth by the Four Families, placing them delicately into the vessel, each adding to the potency of their charm. Three seats remain, each filled by an effigy, a totem to draw power from the name etched onto its person. The first to Roman, who attends only in spirit, the force of his memory enough to conjure the Adessi flame. The second to Aradia, whose grieving presence is felt and whose willing aid is given. And the Third to the Witch-Father, known to most as Bucca, and to the Wright line as Baphomet or Qayin, whose wildness dances in the heart of every witch. Thirteen is tradition. Thirteen gather to work a spell, to plot the end of a common enemy, to protect their own. [color=mediumpurple][i]”Sing my beautiful children!”[/i][/color] the Witch-Mother laughs, her wild dance encompassing all within her sanctuary, their ecstatic screams a baleful symphony. [color=mediumpurple][i]”Sing your love and sing your hate! Sing your desires and let them fall upon you. We unravel the threads of fate to grant a wish. Let us weave a wicked web, my loves, one the impudent Hounds will dread to penetrate. Come, more gifts for our vessel, more thread for the knot, more fire for our spell!”[/i][/color] [center][color=gray][i]“Three hairs from my head and one for each son,” “The ring from whence our line hath begun,” “A promise issued by infernal father,” “A branch from tree that gave me bother,” “Piece and piece and piece and part, all ill come in, all good depart!”[/i][/color][/center] The Four witches and their partners sang their part, each adding their own piece to the spell, coming together in unison for the final chant. [color=mediumpurple][i]”Danger turn with haste by charm, from you to those who mean you harm. The spell is done!”[/i][/color] Hekate concluded with a booming voice, the pool at the center of her temple, the acting vessel of their spell, spilling forth a pillar of black smog, lead by Medea into the Four heads, filling their nostrils and dissolving into their core. This act would not be without consequence, for all in attendance, save Medea and Hekate, would be exhausted for days to come. But they would be safe. [color=mediumpurple][i]”Away, my children,”[/i][/color] Hekate commanded her flock with the sterness of a mother, [color=mediumpurple][i]”you need your rest. I will deliver proper instruction to each of you when the time has come. Now, away!”[/i][/color] Into shadows the witches fade, all but Medea and Hekate, who take to a bench opposite the scrying pool. [color=cornflowerblue][i]”Well done!”[/i][/color] Medea congratulated her mistress, voice brimming with admiration. [color=cornflowerblue][i]”Tonight has seen the beginning to the end. As your plan unfolds, those disgusting Hounds will fall, and The Winter Court with them.”[/i][/color] Hekate smiled, pulling Medea in for a long embrace. [color=mediumpurple][i]”Thank you, my dear, but I cannot assume full responsability for the task ahead. The glory shall go to us all!”[/i][/color] Medea’s eyes were bright with joyful tears and wide with venerate bliss. [color=cornflowerblue][i]”How humble of my lady to share her success! Tell me, what shall be my role in it? I am eager to know.”[/i][/color] Hekate let out a jovial laugh. [color=mediumpurple][i]”Eager indeed. Well, let me tell you then. During his brief attendence at tonight’s revelry, my husband made me aware of a similar plot by his dearest brother, Robin Goodfellow. A fledgling witch he has taken in and gifted with the cunning flame, sending her in his stead to worm her way into the Hound’s ranks. I would ask that you guide her way, from near or far, and ensure her success.”[/i][/color] Medea’s expression turned sour, moving away from Hekate, brows furrowed in rage. [color=cornflowerblue][i]”Y-y-you would have me play the role of idle wife? I am to turn my gifts to the aid of another’s success rather than my own, as it was with that bastard Jason? No, you cannot ask this of me!”[/i][/color] Medea stood furiously, pacing the room with heavy steps. [color=cornflowerblue][i]”No, I’ll not play such a passive role, not again! Why, my lady? Why ask this of me?”[/i][/color] Hekate chased after Medea, placing a gentle hand on her chin. [color=mediumpurple][i]”Fear not, my love.”[/i][/color] she spoke in a matronly tone. [color=mediumpurple][i]”This story shall not end as that one. This is your story, our story, not Jason’s, not the novice, ours. You will find glory in her success, and your feats shall be recognized thusly.”[/i][/color] [color=cornflowerblue][i]”I . . . I suppose you’re right.”[/i][/color] Medea conceded. [color=cornflowerblue][i]”Apologies, my lady. I meant no disrespect.”[/i][/color] Hekate embraced Medea once again, stroking her head and running her fingers through Medea’s auburn hair. [color=mediumpurple][i]”There now. No reason for apologies, but we mustn’t delay any further. Each momentthe Hounds yet draw breath is a moment we must sieze. Away, Medea. Find the young witch in Goodfellow’s company, the door shall be open to you.”[/i][/color] Medea nodded, fading into a shadowy wisp, then into nothing. [color=PaleVioletRed][i]”And when one door opens, another closes . . . or is it the other way around?”[/i][/color] A mysterious voice echoed through the sanctuary. A woman’s voice, low and melodic, and entirely familiar. Hekate stood erect, eyes wide with anticipation. She turned to face the voice’s origin with a wide grin. [color=mediumpurple][i]”The Gods have truly blessed me this year if I know that voice by ear.”[/i][/color] The woman laughed. [color=PaleVioletRed][i]”A blessing you may soon find a curse,”[/i][/color] she joked. [color=PaleVioletRed][i]”But for now, a blessing all the same. We have much to discuss, My Lady.”[/i][/color] The stranger stepped forward, bathed in sunlight absent the sun. Her skin was an ivory dream, crimson robes of finest silk shimmering on her delicate frame, golden curls weaving around rich jewels and bands befitting a queen. Hekate was momentarily blinded, not by her companion’s divine glow, but by a flash of nostalgia. [color=mediumpurple][i]”Indeed we do. But first, welcome home . . . Circe.”[/i][/color]