[center][hider=Cast][img]http://i.imgur.com/50eMiVQ.jpg?1[/img][/hider][/center] [center][i][h3]Witch Hunt[/h3][/i][/center] [center][i][h1]Baleful Breath[/h1][/i][/center] [center][b]Location: Hexentanzplatz, Harz Mountains – Germany Time: Mid-Morning, Two Weeks Ago[/b][/center] [hr] [center][i]Night’s black agent, wretched hag, careful, crooked, cunning witch. Away, anon! On air she rides, on demon steed and broom astride. From here to there, whence and thence; around and about, along and throughout.[/i][/center] [center][color=ffe4b5][i]”I go, I go; Look how I go, Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.”[/i][/color][/center] Marie sang the familiar verse with elven grace, lifted by those enchanted words in transvection to the place she desired. Such travel had become commonplace; in the past few months, without the aid of Puck’s door, Marie was forced - though she was largely unbothered - to use those other methods of travel known to her kind: the flying ointments and oils, the fetch-beast, and most recently, the witches saddle gifted to her by the coven in El Paso. She had even relied upon The Ambassador’s own network of portals, more instantaneous than physical or spectral flight, but far less freeing. Perched on the very tip of her birch steed, like the figurehead at the helm of a ship, was Holt, enrobed in corvid shape, stoic and unyielding. By comparison, Marie was jovial, maddened even. Her hair was a mess of windblown streamers, a tattered flag waving proudly atop its spire, falling haphazardly over her tired eyes whenever the fancy struck. She wore a gossamer gown, little more than a slip of black fabric, fastened to her body by thin strings that fell over her shoulders and a length of white cordage around her waist. Below, the roar of morning began to overtake the calm of flight. Church bells echoed over ancient Saxon buildings, shops and storefronts greeted early guests, it was all so routine, normal, peaceful. Marie hovered for a time, observing, obscured to the people below by a phantom cloud conjured by Holt’s cunning arts. She searched a small leather bag, fastened around the broom’s handle and filled with only the essentials, for her lifeline to Odette, leaving her a message. [color=ffe4b5]”Hope I caught you at a good time. I’ve made it to Germany following a lead to The Wild Hunt. I’m headed to a mountain range called “The Witches Dance Floor.” I have it on good authority that one of Puck’s brothers frequents the ruins atop the mountain. I’ll contact you with anything I find.”[/color] [color=90ee90][i]”The witches baleful breath holds aloft the path to each brother, where two paths meet.”[/i][/color] Holt repeated the Weird Trio’s prophecy, [color=90ee90][i]”You believe Master Leonard is the key to unlocking the path to The Hunter?”[/i][/color] Marie nodded, looking up at the mountain range, shielding her eyes from the slowly rising sun. [color=ffe4b5]”And this ‘baleful breath’ is almost certainly the book from my vision. It bore a certain invocation, a song calling upon the power of Azazel.”[/color] [color=90ee90][i]”Then it is no small coincidence,”[/i][/color] Holt replied, silently marvelling at the interwoven story of Gwyneth and Mab’s children. There were other forces at play, he could sense. But how they might be affecting this journey, and to what end, remained a mystery. The two continued in silence, flying higher into the mountains, passing the suspended lift that carried curious tourists up to the ruins at the top, a place once belonging to the Saxons, a place of worship, or according to local lore, a meeting place for witches and their Sabbats. They landed atop the crumbled walls on the outlook of the mountain, spying an abnormal creature rooting around in the underbrush. Some manner of imp, Marie guessed, with a body like that of a rodent or dog, but bipedal, with hands and feet covered in fur, sporting long talons and a pig nosed face with long ears and two stubby horns. It let out an unsettling shriek when it spied the two of them, climbing up an adjacent wall with haste to confront the intruders. “Hold fast, hag!” the beast called to Marie, “you are unwelcome!” [color=90ee90][i]Petulant creature,[/i][/color] Holt whispered to Marie’s mind, [color=90ee90][i]let us be rid of this foul thing.[/i][/color] Marie nodded, moving to banish the imp with profane words, but was stopped by an invisible force. “Wait,” it commanded in a jesterly tone. A shadow crept up the walls and sat next to the beast. “Let us be more civil, yes? Is that any way to treat our guests, my pet?” The creature lowered its head. “Forgive me, master. I meant no disrespect.” “Pah,” the shadow scoffed, annoyedly adding, “return to your station at the foothills, filthy mutt. And do not open that hideous mouth of yours again, your voice sends me into a rage. Off with you!” The impish creature hurried off, turning into a swarm of rats to more easily survey the surrounding areas. “Forgive the impudence of my servant,” the shadow stood up, bowing to Marie and Holt, “to what do I owe this pleasure?” [color=ffe4b5]”I am Gwyneth Owens,”[/color] Marie offered confidently, [color=ffe4b5]”Master Leonard, I presume?”[/color] The shadow laughed, “How quickly you offer your name! Is it brave or foolish? But you are correct, that is the name I most often employ. I have others, of course.” [color=90ee90][i]”Azazel,”[/i][/color] Holt replied. “Yes, the old Scapegoat himself.” The shadows departed, revealing a tall, smartly dressed man in a tidy red suit, whose collar and cuffs were reminiscent of medieval equivalents. His hands were more human than Puck’s, fingers instead of talons, but each digit still sprouted discolored claws. His face was much like Puck’s, handsome angular features, though he wore a full beard. His eyes were yellow like those of a cat or a serpent, and the whites of his eyes were red. Atop his head sat a pair of impressive curved horns, with a third protruding from his forehead. “But please,” he continued, “Master Leonard will suffice.” Marie marvelled at the sight of him. She’d only ever seen the woodcut images of Leonard, or the few depictions in excerpts of larger manuels of demonology. It never occurred to her that he would have taken so handsome a form, but then, so had Puck. [color=ffe4b5]”Master Leonard,”[/color] she repeated with reverence, [color=ffe4b5]”I am, or was, a witch under the employ of Robin Goodfellow, and have followed the light betwixt the horns of The Man in Black.”[/color] “So this makes us familiars?” Leonard scoffed, “I care not for the wayward followers of my brothers. What business brings you here?” Leonard’s mood was quick to change, Marie noticed, choosing her words carefully so as not to upset him further. [color=ffe4b5]”I’m looking for a means to contact Herne the Hunter, or more specifically, The Wild Hunt. I know it passes through Germany, among other places.”[/color] The demon let out a hearty laugh. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” he sarcastically remarked, still chuckling at the thought. “And what can The Hunter offer you that my other brothers couldn’t? What powers does he command that so interest you? You certainly don’t look the part of trapper or hunter.” [color=ffe4b5]”I need access to Tir na nOg.”[/color] Marie curtly replied, [color=ffe4b5]”The Wild Hunt passes over the blessed isles. I need Herne’s help to reach the island and locate Queen Mab.”[/color] Holt nudged Marie, [color=90ee90][i]Caution, Marie. We know not how Master Leonard feels towards his mother, nor how he will ultimately use this information against you.[/i][/color] That piqued his interest. “[i]Former[/i] Queen Mab,” Leonard corrected her, seating himself on the wall, leaning his back against a raised section of rubble. “She was rightfully dethroned, in one demon’s opinion. But our grievances aside, it seems I have the answers you seek. I have in my possession a certain horn used to call the trooping faeries, the ghostly processions, The Wild Hunt. But one question remains, why should I help you? Robin never gives something for nothing, nor do I. What can you offer that is worth my time?” The catch. Marie knew she’d need to give something in return, she wasn’t a novice. But in all her planning, she failed to consider what might be of use to Master Leonard. His sphere of influence was not dissimilar to the Bucca and Puck. Each dealt in infernal compacts, the initiating of witches, the flight to the Sabbat, the issuing of familiars and gifts, but each was unique in their approach. Puck, forever scheming, granted such powers with the expectation that the outcome would either bring him wealth, fame (or infamy), and above all, entertainment. The Bucca was more enigmatic, but as the guardian of the threshold, the Witch-Father, Marie assumed it was a compulsion, a need to fan the flame, part avarice, part obligation. Leonard’s motives, however, were a mystery. Based only on obscure passages regarding his powers, and the earlier interaction with one of his servants, Marie guessed he was fond of dominating his subjects, lording over them, perhaps reveling in their suffering or trials. With that revelation, Marie hatched a plan, albeit half formed. [color=ffe4b5]”We are familiars, you and I,”[/color] she responded confidently, gauging his reactions as best she could. [color=ffe4b5]”not because I have followed your brothers, but because we share blood. Former Queen Mab is your mother, a fact few know, but she is also my grandmother. We are kindred spirits, Master Leonard, and I suspect this connection can be of use to you.”[/color] Leonard stood silent, left hand rubbing his bearded chin, contemplating. How was he to feel, Marie wondered, gifted with the knowledge that his estranged mother had cursed the world, by whatever means, with yet another bastard child. Finally, Leonard spoke, his jovial demeanor fading, giving way to wickedness. “I see. So mother dearest has been up to her old tricks, scheming even now.” He jumped the gap between them, landing gracefully next to Marie, placing a hand on her shoulder, towering over her just as Puck and the Bucca had done several times before. “We [i]are[/i] familiars afterall, kindred spirits, flesh and blood . . . well, more so in your case, but relatives the same. You my niece, I your uncle, and Mab the same conniving bitch who lords over us all. Whatever will she do with you, I wonder? Or you with her as the case may be. Why seek Mab, darling niece, when all the bliss of her ancient court can be found among your brothers and sisters?” Marie felt uneasy, Leonard’s touch colder than she might have expected, likely by design. Master Leonard, sensing her disease, gripped tighter, motioning with his free hand to the center of the worn overlook where a toppled pillar once stood, faint markings decorating the sides, alchemical and astrological symbols, demonic sigils, signs of goety. All were set aflame at his command, conjuring wisps of another world, the blurred motion of a distant past. Holt stood closer to Marie, feeling the air around her for signs of compulsion. He could sense [i]something[/i] pulling at her mind, unable to identify it. Marie watched as the figures danced around the central pillar, the past overlayed onto the present. The pillar was once a statue of Leonard, or perhaps it was his perch, transforming himself into stone that he might be adored. Around his effigy danced those in his service. They looked wild, happy, free, but Marie noticed a certain glaze over their eyes separate to the usual daze of ritual. What had they given in return? “I haven’t the foresight of my dearest brother, Robin, but I know the minds of you witches, your doubts and fears, your deepest regrets.” Leonard snapped and the images changed, molding into a scene she had nearly forgotten. She saw the demon, Broker, and all his infernal machinations deep beneath New York, the old rites she performed on his behalf, the moment her spirit awakened to the knowledge of itself. “It seems we both have two names,” he whispered, cupping Marie’s head, facing it forward, ensuring she never looked away. She didn’t fight him. “I see why mother dearest has an interest in you. You are a strange creature indeed, Gwyneth Owens . . . or is it Marie?” he laughed, pulling her name from a memory to use against her. It was a novel tactic, one not employed by the Fair Folk, but Leonard had forgone any association with them centuries ago. “Do you even know your own name, dear niece?” [color=ffe4b5]”I . . . I-I am,”[/color] Marie struggled to speak, watching as the pieces of herself slowly came together, tearing away the life she’d built in ignorance. Was it blissful ignorance? To forget a life of hardship and betrayal, to build anew in a changing world, was her life as Marie so bad? [color=ffe4b5]”I am Gwyneth Owens,”[/color] she replied confidently, [color=ffe4b5]”but I am also Marie Heartford. I have led two lives, but I [b]will[/b] see myself made whole.”[/color] Leonard laughed, “Stubborn, I see. But we agree that you are broken, yes? And what has this crusade for restoration wrought? How many yet suffer while you march forward?” The central images changed once more, presenting Benjamin, the wolves, the ones she left behind. She saw the destruction caused in the wake of Broker’s rites, the ruin she inflicted on some poor souls in El Paso, a poisoned Benjamin in Vegas. “How they must haunt you, your most selfish acts, lies that to your ears sound as justification. Is this truly the legacy of the White Witch?” Marie shook herself free of Leonard’s compulsion, swatting his hands away, taking a step back, careful not to step too far and fall from the crumbling wall. [color=ffe4b5]”I am as much a white witch as you are an angel,”[/color] her words dripped with venom, [color=ffe4b5]”I can live with my actions, they’ve all served a greater purpose.”[/color] “You mean they have all served [i]you[/i], your purpose. I doubt any of the offended parties would agree that your presence helped them in any way.” [color=ffe4b5]”But it helped me!”[/color] Marie shouted, surprising herself. [color=ffe4b5]”It was all to help me, to regain my memories, to make me whole. Selfish? Absolutely! But that is the hallmark of us witches, right? Selfish and self serving, the lot. It is a game of self preservation and the rest of this world would agree.”[/color] Marie could tell that Leonard was becoming frustrated, not because of her words, but because his influence was fading. This tactic of guilt tripping her with illusory images had failed once before. She had the Silver Sorceress to thank for that. But Leonard held power where the sorceress didn’t, cunning far beyond hers. He could taste the emotions coating Marie’s speech. It was enough to make a final attempt. “So much pain,” he whispered, moving forward with his head down as if grieving. “I see it now. Not your actions nor those grievously wounded by them, but all you have lost on this foolish quest. So many years of torment, turned away by most trusted allies, left to wander, suffer; it has hardened your heart. You long only to avenge that which has been perpetually stifled by the mortal world and its agents of hate: a sense of belonging, completeness, safety.” Marie was silent, motionless. She tried to combat him with anger or wit, but a familiar sensation took hold of her limbs. Master Leonard pulled from that place between this life and her last, the slivers of memory she’d labored to find. In it, spinning around the broken monolith, she saw the dwelling of her mentor, Nanny Owens, burnt, dishevelled, erased; the remnants of her agrarian dormitory turned to ash; the noble home of her London cohorts, destroyed; and slipping through the cracks of her mind, licking at her exposed skin, she saw - [i]felt[/i] - the flames of her accusers, her final moments, dragged away from her cottage in Wales. “There is so much fight in you, dear niece,” he took hold of her shoulder, bending his knees until they were eye level. “So much fire, but you needn’t possess my brother’s sight to know how this journey ends.” Marie remained silent. “Allow me, then, to ease the burden of this knowledge, to relieve you of this guilt, wounds from the past. Let me give you my mark, that you may be free of the toils of this life. Give up this charade, Marie. Leave Gwyneth behind, leave everything behind.” [color=90ee90][i]Marie,[/i][/color] Holt tried to breach her mind, but found himself shut out. Marie looked pale, pitiful, drowned in sorrow. Leonard’s power took hold, inflicting her with a sickness, a manifestation of her troubled thoughts. Her only choices were to give in, or go mad. Or so Leonard thought. For in all her anguish, that vital spark he had so desperately tried to control, or else extinguish, yet remained, burning defiantly. [color=ffe4b5]”It would be so easy to say yes,”[/color] Marie’s voice was hoarse, soft, and unsettled, but with each word came confidence, assuredness. The cadence of her speech changed, allowing hints of an accent to peek through. [color=ffe4b5]”but I am not so easily won. There is no peace in your offer, only obedience and willful ignorance.”[/color] “Insolent creature!” Leonard roared, holding tighter, claws threatening to break skin. “You . . .” He stopped, sensing something he hadn’t before, a force he recognized. He laughed, unhanding Marie and banishing his phantasms. In his hand appeared a horn, a rather simple looking instrument, inscribed with symbols and characters reminiscent of old Faerie dialects. “Here,” his jesterly toned returned as he presented to the horn to Marie. “This will turn The Wild Hunt’s gaze to whomever sounds the call.” Marie breathed deeply, taking a moment to recover from her ordeal. She reached out, accepting the horn. [color=ffe4b5]”And you would just give this to me?”[/color] “You bested me,” he shrugged, “passed my test, refused to give in. Thoroughly amusing. The horn is my payment to you, Gwyneth Owens. Go with my blessing, find mother dearest, and if you would, remind her how much we all loathe her. [i]Bis bald.[/i]” He waved, body evaporating into shadows, creeping along the walls until it passed out of sight. [color=ffe4b5]”No,”[/color] Marie whispered, running a hand over the horn, holding it some distance from her body to study the unfamiliar markings, [color=ffe4b5]”this felt too easy. Why would he just hand this over?”[/color] [color=90ee90][i]”It is as he said,”[/i][/color] Holt took back his post atop Marie’s shoulder, exchanging looks between the faery horn and Marie, [color=90ee90][i]”Master Leonard invaded your mind in an attempt to sway you to his side. You resisted, likely one of the few to do so. He was honor bound to provide a fitting reward, but you gave away more than you know.”[/i][/color] Marie shrugged, [color=ffe4b5]”He can do what he wants with the information, I suspect it will make little difference soon enough.”[/color] She finally put the horn inside her bag, adjusting its contents to ensure nothing was too loose. Afterwards, she looked around, remembering the other item they’d been sent to procure. [color=ffe4b5]”My Breath,”[/color] she sighed, [color=ffe4b5]”I never asked him about the book from my vision. Leonard was the only clue, it must still be here.”[/color] Holt dropped from her shoulder, shifting effortlessly into a wraith-like form. He moved where Marie could not, scanning the places between, looking for any trace of Gwyneth. Around the central monolith where Master Leonard’s phantasms havocked Marie’s thoughts, Holt felt [i]something[/i], a fragment of her essence left wandering in the places between. Propped just beneath the pillar, atop a stone altar unseen by mortal eyes, sat the book from Marie’s visions. He made for the tome, attempting to snatch it up and return it to his mistress, but something held him at bay. Again he tried, and again, but each advance seemed to draw greater distance between he and his prize. [color=90ee90][i]”I see it, just there,”[/i][/color] Holt returned to Marie, pointing an ethereal claw toward the location of the book, [color=90ee90][i]”but it is beyond my reach. Your magic must bind the book to this place. I suspect the touch of your magic will free it.”[/i][/color] Marie carefully dropped down from the wall, walking forward to the place Holt had described. She too could feel the pull of her spirit, but Leonard’s phantasms must have hidden the truth, or the book had disguised itself in defense. Either way, Marie held out both hands, calling to the memory in which the book appeared, breathing deeply, humming the tune she’d heard in her vision. [b]CRACK[/b] A sound like thunder and sundered glass fell over the mountainside. The enchantment fell away. Marie reached out to touch the book, bound in white, with gold and silver patterns snaking around the cover, encompassing the familiar dragon motif at the center. As her skin brushed cover, a warmth radiated from the artifact, collecting in her hands, traveling up her arms, pooling in her forehead. There came a jolt, a revelation, the clearest vision to date. She saw not a memory, but a distant image. [color=ffe4b5]”Holt, come now. I think I know where the next piece is hidden.”[/color]