[center][hider=Cast][center][img]http://i.imgur.com/50eMiVQ.jpg?1[/img] [img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/316071861521874946/377989214773706772/coollogo_com-278371558.png[/img][/center][/hider][/center] [center][i][h3]The Witch-Mother’s Charge[/h3][/i][/center] [center][i][h1]Compass Round[/h1][sub]Part 4[/sub][/i][/center] [b]Time: 12:00 AM - Two Days After Satellite Attacks Location: Gallows Hill – Salem, Massachusetts.[/b] [hr] [center][i]” . . .thrice about the circle turns, thrice and once the pact renew. Fertile dusk the day to spurn, and fearful pranks to Land return.” [/i][/center] Marie and Odette walked in silence, following closely the sacred saunter of their wilding companion, who moved in turn to the rhythm of some whispered rhyme, of which only the end was audible. Every awkward townie or awakened traveller looked on with maddened stares. A twinge of strangeness leapt overhead, riding waves of brittle chill, much cooler than was customary for the time of year. It was a shame that no one could see it, how the night truly danced when the witches had their way; how the sidelong streaks of ivy and moss glowed with subtle delight, trailing up cobbled paths and red-brick colonials with envigored haste; how the streetlights dimmed to welcome a phantasmal orchestra formed entirely of seagulls, black corvids, and echoes from beneath tired asphalt and behind weary logs - the call of spirits without names to remember; and how the common folk, unaware, sailed home as if possessed, bewitched by the faint humming of the trees. Salem was alive during this time, and not in the metaphorical sense, but truly living: breathing, singing, dancing in its own way. Maryann began twirling and turning about in the invisible waltz, still firmly ahead of her companions. Gallows Hill came into view, marked by tall, spindly conifers and the water tower with its witchy motif. Smoke and embers trailed above the sparse canopy, signalling all who neared or warning them away. Marie could feel herself swaying to the ethereal music, arms waving at her sides in a half rhythmic expression, called to the Sabbath, even if it wasn’t the Sabbath proper. Aware enough to explain the phenomenon, Holt appeared before Odette as she struggled to keep up with Maryann and Marie’s manic pace. He bore no mortal form, instead composed entirely of shadows that formed slender tendrils on either side of the central mass, ending in sharp talons, and a long neck sporting his “face,” a set of jagged teeth and a wraith-like stare. [color=90ee90][i]”Are you familiar with the witches’ Sabbath,”[/i][/color] he questioned as they neared their destination. [color=90ee90][i]”How it calls to all who share the blood and bear the cunning flame?”[/i][/color] Odette’s gaze turned to Holt’s form and she paused thoughtfully, “[color=thistle]Certainly read about a Witches’ Sabbath. As we know, culturally Sorcery and Witchcraft are split. Those born and born without inherent abilities. [/color]” Odette replied. She closed her eyes breathing in deeply, the energy in the air was palpable. If she were not sensitive to such strange things in the night, there would be an unmistakable instinct raising the hair on her arms. The very same energy seemed to enrapture the likes of Marie and Maryann clearly being drawn in. Naturally inclined. Odette caught her curiosity in what it must feel like. Bach watched on with a sly grin, the leaves in his hair seemed to brighten and grew anew - he was absorbing the energy all around them. “[color=thistle]I can feel the energy all around us but feel no pull.[/color]” She said, fixing a bit of stray hair behind her ear, “[color=thistle]One of us must be able to think clearly.[/color]” Curious all the same, witches and faerie surrendered to it in some form. “[color=thistle]I thought we were contacting The Land not participating in a Sabbath.[/color]” [color=90ee90][i]”Is there a difference?”[/i][/color] Holt queried as the light of nine iron braziers came into view, symmetrically scattered atop a steep hill. [color=90ee90][i]”Therein lies the difference between witches and so many others who practice. Witchcraft “rides the hedge,” so to speak. It is hungry for spirits, fueled by dance. The witches here celebrate The Land as those in other far-flung places celebrate their ancestors, or the Bucca, or Hekate, or some other patron. And where this celebration takes root, a Sabbath is born.”[/i][/color] He swirled around Odette as a shadow, wheeling about in the air, just visible, called by the same force as the witches. [color=90ee90][i]”Never forget that madness is divine,”[/i][/color] Holt whispered in both ears. [color=90ee90][i]”What you see as level-headed, The Land, and indeed many others, see as blindness.”[/i][/color] Hearing Holt’s voice surround her, a smile twitched at her mouth, “[color=thistle]Madness is divine.[/color]” Echoing Holt’s words. Stopping at the incline of the hill, Odette stepped out of her shoes toes flexing in the grass. “[color=thistle]The only way to learn is to join the dance. You are right Holt, one does not need eyes to [i]see[/i].[/color]” Leaving her shoes, removing her jacket revealing her exposed back - it was almost to warm to wear it in the first place. The large tattoo of a yew tree was in full view, the lines began to faintly glow blue she was calling upon the arcane stream to join them. Odette ascended the hill behind Maryann and Marie. A hand drawing close to the brazier, feeling the heat of the flame. The energy did not call to Odette but she would revel in it all the same. She peered around at the other witches that had gathered they all moved to the same rhythm Marie danced to. She rose to en pointe drawing her arms above her head picking up the way the witches moved she followed suit. A hand drifting by each brazier as she passed, Bach remained firmly outside of the circle eyeing the braziers with hate, more Fey gathered at the base of the hill respectfully giving the ceremony its space. Like Bach, they were drawn to the power. Rich vapours pouring from hot coals encircled the scene in a protective screen, fumes of foxglove, mugwort, and willow twirling unnaturally with wisps of light, weaving themselves around each attendant like an ephemeral ribbon. The ground atop Gallows Hill was marked with the symbols of the four covens, connected by a written incantation, words that were felt, not read. Some forty witches gathered around the outer circle, jumping, singing, screaming, losing themselves to ecstatic dance. Inside the covens’ seals stood each leader: Jordan Merritt of the Pewter Wyrd, Alexander Gavil of the White Willow Wyrd, Victoria South of the Gallows Wyrd, and taking her place across from the others, Maryann Douglas of the Essex Wyrd. “Begin!” Maryann commanded and all took their place, the outer witches collecting behind their familial seals in a haphazard fashion, the head of each coven standing in the circle, hands raising in unison. Marie could feel her purpose, instinctually standing at the center of the ritual next a low-lying brazier, much larger than the others. She motioned for Odette to join her as the ritual commenced. The hairs on the back of Odette’s neck stood up at the chorus of voices and lightly stepped up beside Marie, lowering from the balls of her feet, planting herself like a root. She closed her eyes, automatically raising her arms answering a call from the Arcane Stream, unwittingly surrendering herself. Salem’s intersection of Ley Lines playing its role tonight, The Land’s heart beating in rhythm with the Arcane Stream. The ritual began. A feral cry echoed through the hills, bathing the witches in a sweetly sinister calm. In unison, the coven leaders chanted: [center][i]“Hark! the midnight cry resounds and feral beasts our hands coerce: raven, hare, serpent, toad, familiars proud. Greet us, Wild, through yonder door, wicked Sage herald the age, welcome them who came before: Tituba, Elizabeth Parris, Mary Eastey, Bridget Bishop, Mary Walcott, Abigail Williams. Sisters aid we humble few, thrice about the circle turns, thrice and once the pact renew. Fertile dask the day to spurn and fearful pranks to Land return!”[/i][/center] A craven shroud fell over the witches, their eyes glazed over, their bodies moved with fearsome speed, some hovering above the ground, some spinning each other with reckless abandon, some falling to the ground in ecstatic bliss. Their leaders danced in place, twisting and turning with elegant guile as the center brazier was stoked by their spell, conjuring a wind that threatened to cast them all adrift. Then everything stopped, and time seemed to stand still, each witch frozen in their position as if paralyzed. Vapours pooled to the center, rising higher and higher, dancing in the light. Soon, a figure came into being, darting from one side of the circle to the next, swirling in an ethereal wind, shapeless, incorporeal, amorphous. It spoke through the coven leaders in unison. “The time has come once again, and a new conduit rises to the occasion.” Maryann stepped forward, stretching her arms and neck as if she’d been asleep, approaching Marie and Odette at a leisurely pace. “A shame what happened to poor Christian May,” Maryann and her cohorts lamented, “but I suspect you are more fitted for the task . . . yes, I can feel it, the old magic these witches covet so; it sings in you.” Marie had never seen such an invocation. It was rare for witches to succumb to ritual possession, though not unheard of. The Land was truly a part of these covens, so ingrained in their traditions as to take their shape and work through them. Marie was in awe. Odette felt a chill fall across her spine as the witches froze in place, but the chill soothed as they spoke in harmony reminding her distinctly of a certain golem’s harmonious voice. Sparing a glance at Marie before greeting the spirit possessing Maryann, “[color=thistle]Great spirit of the Land, we wish to renew the sacred pact shared amongst the covens who were called here tonight.[/color]” Odette spoke quite confidently, clearly and without waver. “[color=thistle]We act and speak as one.[/color]” Reaching for Marie’s hand the sorceress never broke eye contact. “[color=thistle]We know the former Faerie Queen Mab spent time here a century ago. We wish to connect with shades of her, as well. Please, show us the imprint Mab left here when she aided the witches.[/color]” Bowing her head respectfully, curtseying lowly she added, “[color=thistle]If only for the honour to dance for you, Great Spirit in return.[/color]” “We?” Alexander’s voice stood out among them, his body moving forward where Maryann’s had frozen in place. He moved closer to Odette, his face mere centimetres from hers. Odette smelled the incense so strongly but other bitter notes registered on his breath. “Ah,” the echo of voices amusedly concluded, “you are bound in some way, yes.” Alexander placed his fingers over Odette’s eyelids. She held her place fighting the instinct to flinch at the invasion of space. “Here, you share a piece of the old magic . . . how interesting.” Victoria stepped forward, placing a hand on Marie’s shoulder. “Do you speak as one, my conduit, or has the curtseying sorceress stolen your tongue?” Odette’s eyes narrowed at that comment, perhaps it would have been beneficial for Marie to take the lead. This was no faerie court. Marie turned to Odette, tightening their clutched hands for reassurance. She squeezed back, silent communication passing between the pair. [color=ffe4b5]”Yes,”[/color] Marie spoke plainly, [color=ffe4b5]”My friend and I are as one. In exchange for our aid in this rite, under the terms to which you and these witches have already agreed, I ask only for knowledge regarding the former Summer Queen.”[/color] The four leaders smiled in unison. “Very well,” Maryann stepped forward as her companions returned to their place. She made a sign over the central brazier that caused great swaths of smoke to pour from lit coals. It rose slowly, revealing certain images. “Your Faerie Queen found herself among witches north of here, Andover. She and I are kindred spirits, born of the blood of stars if you believe the old tales. She held considerable influence in her time; a beacon. But the throne wasn’t hers to take.” The smoke revealed the likeness of Mab, a slender woman dressed in fine robes, sporting moth wings and maidenly features. She danced with a dozen women, sending them in one form or another. Then a storm formed above them, a noose fell from the clouds, and the witches disappeared or scattered. Next, a carriage arrived and off stepped a fair, matronly woman dressed in rich garments. “The Witch Queen arrived soon after, drawn by the blood of her fallen kin. In the likeness of Elizabeth Parris, she rallied all who remained, took them to Salem and started anew . . . but Mab yet lingered, weakened, but not weak. If the witches weren’t to be hers, the earth itself would.” The smoke revealed a scene of Mab standing atop a large mound. “She raised her Faery mounds, opened doors to her childhood home, welcomed friends into the New World. Mab even tried to corral the wild things born to the shadows here, but we are not so easily won.” An image of Mab appeared above the brazier, slowly fading until only smoke remained. “And away she went.” “[color=thistle]Opened doors?[/color]” Odette echoed eyes drinking in the smoky visions, catching details of Mab’s face and clothing. She turned to Marie, “[color=thistle]Do these doors still remain?[/color]” “[color=thistle]Perhaps [i]the[/i] door to-[/color]” She caught herself, [i]to Tir na nOg[/i]. . . “[color=thistle][i]Merci.[/i] It is interesting Hekate was involved here, though not unexpected. Is there anything else Mab involved herself in the New World?[/color]” She was reaching for anything, recorded history took them so far but it was impressions from the spiritual plane that could leave a clue, a thought, [i]anything[/i] that could lead them to their next destination. Odette followed her instincts, doors opened and closed but perhaps some were left open after Mab departed? Jordan stepped up. “Her work here was done, but her touch is yet felt.” The witches pointed to Marie. “Kindred spirits,” they sang, “a creature of the old magic. She is but one who carries the spark, a shared ember, link to the past, door to another world.” [color=ffe4b5]”What do you mean?”[/color] Marie spoke up, heart racing. Jordan placed both hands on her shoulders. “Something lingers below the surface, waiting, watching. Can’t you see it?” Marie shook her head, searching for whatever the Land was hinting at. But something did catch Marie’s eye, a floating ember, something hidden in the smoke, behind it. She moved closer to it, inhaling the incense, recalling a memory. This time, however, Gwyneth’s Sight pulled at Odette’s mind, drawing her in. They stood at the threshold to the Summer Court, bright rays falling over a thicket of green, lush foliage and flowers of the sweetest perfume lined a throne of thorny vines. Mab sat atop it, her features decidedly more envigored than they’d seen in other visions. She held Gwyneth’s hand with care, speaking in a tongue they couldn’t decipher. Gwyneth replied in old Welsh. The only word Marie could recognize, perhaps by design, was [i]nain[/i] Grandmother. Marie gasped and the world returned. Odette inhaled holding the breath. The heel of her hand pressed against her temple. Mab was Gwyneth’s grandmother. The noise dropped away this meant a connection, their chances grew exponentially. Another of Gwyneth’s items [i]must[/i] be kept with Mab or within the Faerie realms. They were being shown as much by no coincidence. [color=thistle][i]Merde.[/i][/color] “[color=thistle]Marie. . . Do you know what this means?[/color]” Marie stumbled backward, tripping on herself, caught by Maryann who sported a wicked smile. [color=ffe4b5]”M-Mab was Gwyneth . . . my faery ancestor.”[/color] Marie stuttered, dumbstruck. She’d known for some time that her power was innate, but to be the granddaughter of a Queen of Faerie, one of the first monarchs to the Summer Court no less. [color=ffe4b5]”Mab has the next item, she must. But what is it? Where did she go?”[/color] Marie looked hopeful, turning her gaze to the coven leaders, silently praying that the Land would hold the answer. But that was beyond its reach. “I have upheld my end of our bargain, conduit,” it spoke through every witch in attendance. “I have given you all I can. You must fulfill your purpose here, take my hands.” Maryann returned to her portion of the circle. In her place stood a mass of pungent vapours, swirling like a storm, vaguely humanoid and wild. A pair of arms manifested, taking Marie’s outstretched hands. “Through you, all power shall be returned to the Land, and prosperity will fall on these witches.” A vicious wind circled around them, accompanied by the crackle of thunder overhead. Soft lights rose from lit braziers, ephemeral wisps that surrounded Marie, filling her nostrils, her eyes, her mouth, forcing her head back in resplendent agony, divine ecstasy. Power coursed through her veins, passing into the hands of the Land’s shade, flowing through the shadow into the earth. The bare trees dotting the hill began to rise, enlivened by the return of vital essence. Voices whispered through flourishing limbs, spirits of old, brothers and sisters. Slowly, the mass of smoke took shape, growing into a beast with spindly features made of bark, patches of “skin” the colour and texture of moss, claws like bones, and the head of a great stag perched on a spike like an effigy. The most unsettling where its human-like eyes, but it lingered only for a moment, fading from view once all power had been restored. “The pact is renewed,” its guttural farewell echoed over Gallows Hill. Marie took hold of herself, riding a wave of euphoria that soon turned to nausea, but she kept down the sick. The covens were no longer paralyzed, dancing about the circle as if nothing had happened, but the world around them had certainly changed. A vibrance was there, electricity, a warmth that came from nowhere. The energy they felt earlier was like a breath of fresh air now, it was a lightly caressing breeze across Odette’s bare shoulders, the exposed skin of their arms. The Arcane Stream filtered away into the ground itself, her mind was racing with the ritual, with the revelations. It was cause for celebration. Taking on a small amount of the energy filtering through the air on the tip of her finger Odette tapped the side of Marie’s temple, whispering the spell, “[color=thistle][i]Clarté.[/i][/color]” Stabilizing her after channelling so much power. Taking hold of her hands once again Odette guided them away from the center to dance, dancing past the braziers joining the witches proper in revelry. Skipping, spinning in place rising then falling from en pointe. There was no proper form, no direction or technique just - movement. There was no other way to expend the energy that filled them now except to move. For the second time that day, the smiles they shared were genuine.