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    1. fdeviant 10 yrs ago

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Cassandra’s look of amusement swiftly turned into one of shock and horror. ”Is he serious? The Pit has been in my family for four centuries. He just sat in my family’s most sacred possession . . . I hate him.” Cassandra let her mind wander as Jaklo scolded the young imbecile. Cassandra resisted the urge to fume, turning back to Baron.

She sighed, allowing herself to calm down, she replied to him, “Don’t worry, love, The Pit goes where I go.” She snapped her fingers and the cauldron began to hover just above the ground and inch towards Cassandra, melting the snow beneath it. She marched forward with her comrades, cauldron in tow. A voice began to call to her, a familiar presence had descended upon them, known only to her, or so she believed.

“My dear,” spoke the ethereal voice, “keep your wits about you. I have foreseen the dangers you are to face; you mustn’t lose yourself to the foolishness of others.”

”Thank you, Mary.” Cassandra thanked the spirit in her mind. If she ever loved anyone, it was Mary. She had looked out for Cassandra since she was eight years old, taught her the ways. Cassandra wasn’t the trusting type, but she trusted her ancestors without question, especially Mary. She knew the hardships of being alone as a young girl, perhaps that’s why she was the one who came to mentor Cassandra.

Her anger faded, her mind was clear, and Mary departed, leaving Cassandra and her team to fend for themselves.
Speaking of Natural Selection, what's the word on that huge collab?
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That's quite a leap, from being mildly annoyed to cold-blooded murder, but I'll think about it. BUT I THINK ITS TOTALLY JUSTIFIED BECAUSE HOW ON EARTH IS SUMMONING A POT BETTER THAN WHAT COAL CAN DO?


It's not about summoning the pot, it's about what she can do with the pot. Cuz it's a *maaaaaggiccaaalll* pot
@dragonmancer Yeah, Drake and Cassandra aren't gonna get along lol.

He just decided to lounge inside her family's most sacred heirloom.
Wind and cold ripped at Cassandra’s skin and clothes, her red mane quickly turning white in the growing blizzard. Snow threatened to swallow her as she moved closer to her team, many of whom were busy clearing it away from their immediate area. She knew what she’d be up against and still she decided to dress to impress. Beauty is pain.

The first of the group to acknowledge her was Drake, who spoke with an elegance that betrayed his years. He bowed, and Cassandra chuckled and returned the gesture. How strangely cordial of him.

“. . . you trying to give your feet hell in those shoes?” Drake teased, his arms enveloped in flames and casting a warmth over the group. Cassandra welcomed the momentary escape from the chill, and she didn’t really mind a joke or two at her expense.

“They’re not as bad as you might think . . . maybe I’ll let you try them on later, you could do with some extra height,” she joked in a sultry voice.

Atlas welcomed her next, though it wasn’t much of a welcome. He gave a give quick reply with blood-stained teeth, then turned away to play with his knives . . . typical.

Then came the beast of the group, Mithias, who towered over her and had an almost alien look. She did take a moment to admire his dark locks, which were flying about almost as wildly as were her own.

Finally, there was Baron, a truly strange combination of mechanical limbs and eldritch tentacles. Cassandra felt uneasy around such a man, but she kept her discomfort hidden. This wasn’t the time for her to feel intimidated. If anything, it was her chance to be intimidating.

“So, what is it that you bring to the table as far as ‘shedding blood’ goes?” he limped over in curiosity.

How would she describe her talents? Would she simply label herself a witch and assume they were familiar enough with this world to know what she meant? Would she give them a display of power or pull out her trump card? And what of this threat that was approaching, how would she handle herself against something unknown? These questions raced through her mind as they stood there in the cold. She hadn’t cared about first impressions before, but never before had they mattered. Normally, she saw a client once, did what they needed, got paid, then went along her merry way never to see them again. This was different, she actually had to work with these people. She decided to take a chance.

“I’ll show you,” she responded, removing her Hawthorn wand from her side. She weaved a large circle into the snow, sigils and lettering of her family’s decorating the interior and exterior in beautifully symmetrical patterns. She spoke the chant:

”Poison and Fire, Malice and Ire,
Speak, speak, speak thy name;

Womb of the Earth, to she who did sire,
Speak, speak, speak thy name;

If near be far, if far be near,
Speak, speak, speak thy name;

Charmed vessel get thee here,
Pit of Creation I call you by name.”


Light emanated from the circle’s center, a small spark growing into a raging flame that formed as she incanted. Once she was finished, the flames had take shape. Where the magic circle once stood, a large, ornate, brass cauldron took its place. It seemed to ward away the snow that collected around it, creating a clear patch in its immediate area. Cassandra went over to the Pit and rubbed its side as if it were an obedient pet. A flame was lit in its belly in response, providing the group with even more heat and light.

Cassandra smiled and turned back to Baron. “This is what I had in mind.”
Drip, Drop. Drip, Drop

The faucet played its broken tune, droplets falling with deafening force upon week-old stirfry. With a simple flourish, the metal fixture twisted around itself. ”Looks like I’m not getting my security deposit back.” Cassandra thought, turning and tossing on her cardboard mattress, failing to ward off the cold with thin sheets and cheap sweaters. Maine hadn’t been forthcoming. In six weeks, Cassandra had managed to obtain and subsequently lose three jobs because dealing with her clients’ exes with a pox “wasn’t what they had in mind.” She was living off leftovers and scraps from previous employers, which amounted to bad take-out and a shitty studio apartment with faulty appliances. How the mighty had fallen.

Cassandra hopped out of bed with false enthusiasm, preparing herself mentally by feigning excitement about her day. Well, maybe it wasn’t entirely false. She’d received the call from Markiel Relovski a few days prior, telling her that she’d been accepted to work for Wells and Raick. The tri-tone on her phone told her that today was the day to prove her mettle. She should have hurried, should have made it seem like she had any sort of work ethic, but instead she took her time, powering through her intensely cold shower, applying her makeup in a faded mirror and poor lighting. Despite every physical obstacle, she managed to come out of the bathroom looking as radiant as always. She quickly slipped on her best Elvira dress and tallest highheeled boots, threw on a fashionable, black trench coat (a rather strange combination of words), teased her hair until the scarlet strands had fallen into place, gathered all her magical fixins, and walked leisurely out of the door, down the stairs, and into town.


W&R was imposing, not because the building was anything special, it certainly wasn’t the most beautiful building she’d ever lain eyes on, but because it held within it a great many mages capable of grand feats of magic and mystical tomes and tools aplenty. She wagered that within these four walls, there was magic enough to take out half the country. She sauntered through the front door, her hips swinging rhythmically from left to right. She saw folks rushing downstairs, readying themselves for their current case. Some maniac screwing with the weather, making Maine even more of a frozen hell-hole. Markiel came speeding behind them from his office, likely sensing the witch’s presence.

“I see the cavalry's already marching off?” she said with a flirty smile.

“Cassandra! You’re just in time for the action. I’m afraid there’s no time for introductions or a guided tour.” Markiel replied with a sickening amount of enthusiasm.

“Shame, I was hoping to ask you incredibly invasive questions about your accommodations,” she sarcastically replied. Markiel seemed to wave it off.

“I’m sending you with Group One. Your teammates are Jaklo, Jacques, Drake, Mithias, and Atlas.”

“Sound like a lot of testosterone,” she interrupted.

“Don’t worry, they’re some of our best, you’re in good hands with them. I’ve opened a portal to the target location downstairs. Go down once you feel prepared, maybe have a quick word with your teammates, then get to business.”

Cassandra nodded, giving him a quick, sarcastic salute, then following the remaining few downstairs to the portal leading to the storm’s epicenter. Once on the other side, she was greeted by her hoard of male helpers, their ages and appearances fluctuating. They all looked relatively normal and around her age, except Drake who looked more youthful. She tried to size them all up with just a few looks, but she knew that a lot like this would have more buried beneath the surface. Perhaps for the first time, Cassandra decided not to judge these men by their looks alone and would wait until she heard them speak.

“Don’t worry, lads,” Cassandra began as she walked up to the group, “I’ve come to add a feminine touch. Cassandra Owens at your service, pleasure to shed blood with you.”
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Just post now we're literally just standing in the snow.


Working on it now.
No one's even met her yet, lol.

I wanted to hold off on making a post until the plot moves forward a little more or until another Jaklo post so that I've got some lead in. If that's not necessary, then I'll start working on something.
@Witch Cat Don't worry, Cassandra and Coal can scheme together and bond over their witchyness. And then TAKE OVER THE WORLD!!

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