Young Writers Society

Something wicked this way comes…


Before the world, there was a tree. A giant tree, spreading amongst the stars, nebulae as its leaves. It had lived since the beginning of time, and for all the time it had been alive, it had been growing a bud. On one seemingly inconsequential day, the bud bloomed, a world at its centre. As the world unfurled, the tree wrapped it in its branches and roots. When the world was ready, the tree placed three women upon it - three Fates, charged with watering the roots of the tree in the sole place they appeared on the surface and to watch over the fate of the world. To do so, it gave them a well. Before they watered it, they drank from the well, thus being granted the gift of eternal life. In time, their powers emerged, one gifted with the past, one with the present, and one with the future. It was a time of peace at first. Though the tree slowly granted the Fates more gifts, they never found the need for them. The mystical creatures the tree had granted the world as a boon flourished alongside the slowly evolving indigenous fauna. After millennia, humans evolved. Wary, the mystical creatures retreated to hostile environments. The Fates watched and waited.

After much deliberation, the Fates trusted these humans with their secrets. One of the humans - a woman known as Morrigan - presented herself to the Fates, begging for the honour of being, if not one of them, then close to them. They let her drink, not the water, but a drop of each of their blood. She gained the secondary powers of every Fate. Under their tutelage, she became a great woman capable of fearsome exploits. The other humans saw her power and feared her. Too cowardly to face her, they poisoned her in her sleep then strung up her body in the centre of the town. Once they learnt of her end, the Fates were distraught at not having prevented it and burned with rage at the murder of the woman they had seen as their daughter. Leaving the tree, they entered the town. Their rage gave them talons and speed. In an hour, every human living in that place was dead. Every man, every woman, every child.

The Fates vowed not to trust humans. The Fate presiding over the past grew to despise them as her powers showed her Morrigan’s death over and over. After a few decades they found themselves hunted by humans who had heard stories of what happened to those who had crossed them in the past. These humans had more success, almost killing the women several times. As a last resort, they decided they must create more witches like Morrigan - a small following for each Fate so as to protect them from those who sought to kill them. They refused to give anyone the same powers as their daughter, but instead the witches received the blood of just one Fate.

As their ranks grew the Fates grew distant, their views differing on how to deal with humans. The Past Fate wanted to wipe them from the world for what they had done. The other Fates wanted to be more lenient, with Present seeing the progress humans were making, and Future seeing the road to come. Their internal feuds have root in these conflicted times. For centuries, their focus turned upon themselves, not paying heed to the society being built around them. Once they emerged from their conflict, they found the only place for them was amongst the humans. Reluctantly, they allowed a city to be built around the World Tree. Welcomed amongst the humans who revelled in depravity, in violence, in death, they settled, reasonably content with their place, save for the rift between the three.

— The Fates —

Though the Fates look normal at first glance, when you look at them closer, they emit an ethereal calm. They haven’t aged a day since they were placed on the surface of the world and look as though they are in their late 20’s. Claws adorn their fingers. Though they are meant to work in harmony, this hasn’t been a reality since Morrigan died. Despite their feuding, they always come together on Midsummer’s Eve to water the World Tree. Each Fate chose their strongest witch to run the coven on their behalf as a matriarch, only requiring the coven’s presence for important problems.

Past Fate - Ealdgyd



Able to see the past in a blink of her eyes, Ealdgyd can also control blood. Driven slightly mad by the constant revisiting of Morrigan’s death, she is cruel and cold, ruling imperiously. She despises humans and delights in causing them pain. Her brand is that of an hourglass.

Present Fate - Aodh



Aodh can see events happening currently, wherever they may be. Her power has some leeway, with events an hour in the past and the present being counted as the present. She rules over fire. She is never cruel without reason, though she sometimes finds every reason to be cruel. As the Tree shows her current events, she is often detached. Her brand is that of an open eye.

Future Fate - Skuld



The future rules Skuld’s life. It is a tangled mess in which she must weigh the probability of each future and choose the surest path to walk down. Hope and despair mix in her control of light and dark. Strong and sure, her ruling is often the fairest of the three Fates. Though she does hate humans, she despises the humans the least, as she can see the potential in them. Her brand is a Celtic knot, twisted and infinite.

— The Witches —

Witches are cutthroat and lethal, often cruel. Though they are not immortal, they are long lived, with their lifespan being twice to three times that of humans. The blood of the Fates is no longer required to make witches, as, though they are rare, witches are born to those of the same blood. The closer a witch is related to those who originally received blood from the Fates, the stronger their powers are.

The power of each witch depends on which coven they belong to. If they are in the Past Fate’s coven, they have control of over blood. Witches of the Present coven have powers of fire. In the coven of the Future Fate, the powers are split between those who can control darkness and those who can control light. Those who can control light are often viewed as soft by others as the power favours those who have a kernel of kindness in them. The coven of a witch can be determined by a brand on the inside of their wrist, with a different figure depending on which Fate rules them.

The magic a witch has is often a variation of the magic of their coven (eg: darkness could be turning into a shadow, summoning dark things, being able to plunge a room into darkness etc).

The strength of a witch determines their rank in the coven. Witches with weak powers can bolster their strength with book magic, which is not as strong as coven magic. It is often looked down upon, and isn’t as reliable as coven magic as it takes time to cast a spell. If book magic and strong powers are combined, it can be incredibly powerful, however the pride of a lot of stronger witches means that people who do this are rare. Familiars do attach themselves to witches, though it takes a lot for a mystical creature to enter the city to find its witch. If they choose not to make the journey, they sometimes call their witches to them.

Male witches are highly uncommon with most female witches not knowing how to treat them. They are viewed as either beneath some, or above others, depending on the witch. No matter how each witch treats them individually, they unanimously treat the men as outcasts, even within the clans. Some also view them as useful for breeding, as the coupling of two witches from the same coven without the dilution of human blood is considered extremely beneficial.

Witches work in the underbelly of the city, often hired as muscle or assassins. In some circles, just the mention of hiring a witch is a threat.

— Places —

The main population of the world is centred in cities dotted across the continent. Though a few live outside of them, there have been enough reports of strange disappearances for people to be wary. Split in two by a towering mountain range, it’s easy enough to travel from one end to the other, but even with high speed travel it takes some time. The capitol - where the Fates reside - is called Belthan.

Belthan lives in the future, flying cars available to those who have to money to pay for it (and the privilege of using the sky roads), hover-boards and well managed communal transport to those who don’t. If you fancy a trip somewhere else, trains run fast and often to other cities, but many people never leave Belthan in their lifetimes. The skyline is dominated by shimmering high-rises, wind sucked into the streets. The city lights up a night, neon signs dispelling the dark. Phones are a thing of the past, replaced by contact lenses and implants. Despite being big, the city is clean, though if you look closer, not everything adds up. For a city that is seemingly peaceful and safe, danger seems to creep up the walls in the outer quarters of the city in no fair amounts, the politicians are too slippery to catch and something hovers over the city like a death threat. The people know that something other lives amongst them. Only the rich, the depraved and the unfortunate know exactly what.

The Throne Hall

The main throne hall is placed just above the roots of the World Tree, with the well and the roots in a separate room hidden behind a tapestry and the thrones of the three matriarchs before it. The marble floor reflects the glints of dusty sunlight coming in from the roof, catching on the gouges and scrapes on the floor, on the scorch marks and pits from fights. The walls, painted in a deep burgundy, share the same marks, along with splashes of a brighter red on the exposed plaster. The witches have long since stopped trying to repair the grandiose room,it only gains more every time the covens meet. Each matriarch has her own separate room, in which she can entertain her own clan separately from the others.

The Vaults

The Vaults is one of the few haunts frequented by witches from every coven. Built under the city, the cavern plays host to bars and fight rings. Don’t look too closely at the menu if you’re a human who happened in here by accident, you might not like what you see. Any worries you have will soon disappear - along with your life. If you aren’t rich or in business with the covens, you have no protection.

Here, the witches pit themselves against each other, claws and teeth and magic on full display. Here, the humans who can afford it enlist the help of witches to do their dirty work - if they dare. Here, ranking in each coven is established.

It’s a place without laws, except that of the strongest.

So why are we here?…

As the witches gathered in the Vaults to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve, the Fates prepared themselves to water the World Tree. The atmosphere between the three was particularly melancholy - it had been a thousand years since Morrigan had been murdered. Once they were ready, they bade their retinues leave. They did so and joined the festivities in the Vaults. The Fates entered the room in which the World Tree’s roots emerged.

The next day, the witches closest to the Fates - the matriarchs and their heirs - returned to the throne hall, still moving with elation from the night before. For once not fighting, they approached the thrones in the main hall in good spirits. These fell immediately when they did not see the Fates upon their thrones. Though the ritual often drained them, the Fates had always returned to their thrones the next day.

The only witches allowed to view the World Tree without the Fates, the matriarchs rushed to the room, unsure of what they would find.

Shattered on the stones surrounding the well was the bowl the Fates used to water the roots of the World Tree. Though they searched, they couldn’t find a trace of the Fates, not even of a struggle. No one had entered or exited the temple, it had been made impossible by ancient spells. They relayed the information to the other witches. Distraught at the loss of the ones they considered mothers - and goddesses - they turned upon each other.

As they fought, something became apparent. Their powers were not as strong as the night before. Though for the weakest, it was barely a change, for the strongest, it seemed as if a chasm had been opened. Magic was ebbing away. Calm began to settle. One thing was certain in the hearts of every witch. They had to get the Fates back.


—————————————————————————————————————————

— Slots —

Past coven:
1. @Auxiira - Isolde Aegil (heir)
2. @Craz - Emyr Tarrant
3. @Gardevite - Vivian Hayes

Present coven:
4. @SpiritedWolfe - Rhosyn Nilan
5. @megsug - Macchione Linnet
6. @HazelGrace -

Future coven:
7. @Iggy - Sage Hollings (Heir)
8. @Jhinx - Ana Pharaya
9. @ChildofNowhere - Joaquin Frey

I can open more slots, but no more than 3 more. I would appreciate characters of varying strengths, not just powerful ones. For instance, a weak witch who is nonetheless good with book spells would be useful with the coven magic waning. Only 2, max 3 men allowed and Baz already has one of them.

— Character Profile —

Don’t forget to take out everything in parenthesis! If I find your character overpowered or their profile not detailed enough, I will refuse them.

Code: Select all


[b]Name:[/b]

[b]Age:[/b] (Actual and apparent - remember they live twice/three times as long as humans)

[b]Coven:[/b]

[b]Power:[/b] (give an accurate description and put a restriction on it)

[b]Appearance:[/b] (Photos and drawings are accepted, however they must be accompanied by a written description. Make it quite detailed)

[b]Personality:[/b] (Again, fairly detailed please - don’t forget strengths and weaknesses)

[b]History:[/b]

[b]Other:[/b]


Rules: please refer to the sidebar

She couldn't remember a time where she had ever seen her mother this agitated. It was not often in her nature to be anything other than cruel and imperious. It wasn't as if she wasn't worried herself; however, she found it rather unbecoming to let it show through. She is getting old... a small voice whispered in her ear. It wasn't traitorous to think this way. She only considered herself loyal to her mother because she ran the coven well. As soon as she had enough control, there would no longer be any need for the aging hag.

She rested her elbow on the edge of the window and propped her chin on her open palm, watching the city fly by. Dawn glinted off of windows. The towers creeping into the wilds made her want to spit. Humans. No respect for the world they lived on. It didn't help her already foul mood. She returned her gaze to the inside of the car.

The other matriarchs and their heirs sat in opposing corners, the city lights illuminating planes full of worry, and in the case of Kristen, the matriarch of the Future coven, some fear. Isolde let her lip curl. She didn't care for the coven of Skuld or her weak hearted witches. Being friends with everyone would only leave them reeling when they were stabbed in the back. Sage met her glare evenly. It wasn't as if Isolde had ever kept her opinions on the other covens to herself.

A small tone alerted her to a text. She glanced at the alert in the corner of her vision, annoyance lessening slightly as she saw the text was from Ailith. Opening with a blink, she read it, a low growl rumbling in her throat.

"The male tried to escape. Holding him for you.
Fighting ongoing in Vaults."

The other occupants of the car tried not to look at her curiously. She closed the text and crossed her legs. Her mother openly glared at her. She looked at her nails, then picked a piece of dirt from under them. Testing the sharpness of one on her palm, she grinned at the drop of red that welled up. Ealir glared a little harder.

Isolde shrugged, a glorious movement of indifference. "They're fighting."

"They were fighting 10 minutes ago." The brassy haired heir of Present snapped. "I don't see how that's new."

"So sorry, Tatiana. Should I have said that they're still fighting?" A smirk spread across her lips. "At least my Second reports to me."

A flame flickered into existence across the car. Isolde bared her teeth.

"This is not the time for fights." Sage's voice cut through the tension, a cool spot in a blaze of tempers. "In any case, we're here."

The old warehouse that served as one of the entrances to the Vaults loomed as the car lowered itself to the ground. It squatted between two others like it, occupied by customers of the witches. Isolde had developped a rough sort of affection for this entrance after a few decades. There was a quiet promise of violence if you dared to step foot inside. The others didn't necessarily hold that charm.

The six witches left the car on the road as they entered the building, each heir shadowing her matriarch. Isolde's eyes darted around. None of her witches would ever dare to attack them, but she never trusted the other covens not to do so. The stairs descending into the Vaults were wide, allowing the women to walk on the same level. The raucous noises normally associated with the Pits filled the cavern, hisses and growls and snarls filling Isolde's ears like a symphony.

A glance over the hall from the height of the balcony told her that the humans had left - if they had ever been there. She couldn't remember seeing any when she had been there during the night. They tended to stay far, far away when the witches celebrated Midsummer. Her eyes strayed on the slicks of blood, a thin hunger coating her thoughts.

At the sight of the matriarchs, the fighting witches stilled. Isolde noted that it was mainly Past and Present witches who had been fighting. Males and Future witches lingered around the edges, watching the fights warily. She affected her usual disinterested demeanor and leant against the wall as the matriarchs stepped to the edge of the balcony.

"As you all know," Marion, the Present Matriarch began, "The Fates have gone missing and we have no leads as to why. We do not believe, either, that they have watered the world tree."

Noise began to clamour, but died down again as Kristen spoke. "We will be taking the day to discuss what we should do. All witches, male and female, however distanced from the covens, are to reconvene in the throne room tonight."

"In the mean time, any fights will be punished, and anyone trying to take advantage of the situation will be... dealt with." Ealir's grin left no doubt as to what she meant. Isolde had no doubt that her matching smile would keep the Past coven in line. After a few tries, most had understood that they didn't want to get on the wrong side of the First, or her Second.

Marion took up the end of the announcement. "The humans should not be informed of this matte-

"What about the magic?" Someone called from the crowd. There wasn't the time to work out who they were, the witches next to them already outraged that the matriarch had been spoken over.

"The magic?" Ealir's voice cut like a razor.

"It's been weakened." There was a murmur of agreement - mainly from the stronger witches.

The matriarchs glanced at one another. Some form of understanding seemed to pass between them as Kristen turned back to the crowd.

"We assume it must have something to do with the Fates. We shall discuss this also."

There was a silent agreement that the witches were now dismissed. Some flowed toward the exits, some lingered, talking among themselves. As the matriarchs turned away, Isolde caught a glance of Ailith's firey hair, watching from just inside one of the alcoves. A wolfish half-grin stole her face.

"Mother, I have some business here. I shall shall see you before the meet tonight." She gave the smallest of bows, before stalking to the stairs leading down onto the main floor.

"Don't you have more important things to do, Ailith, than to deal with your boss's whore?"

"No." The Second's callused palm struck across his bloody cheek. As the crimson liquid touched again upon his tongue, his nerves incited with a bitter buzz, as it did every time he tasted his own blood. He held the sensation in his mouth, rolling it around as if he were savoring a fine wine. It faded away until he had to curl his tongue to taste it again.

"Are you sure about that, Ailith? If I didn't see my Second out handling business in lieu of my First, and instead babysitting her plaything, I would think the hierarchy to be a bit... weak."

Emyr grunted as Ailith slammed her fist into his privates, digging her metal nails in through the thick fabric of his pants. Emyr bent over and the Second took the opportunity to wrench her hand out of his crotch and graze his chin and neck. Emyr rotated his jaw, absorbing the stinging pain and the petty shot to his groin.

"The Matriarch," he said slowly, "would prefer to maintain my value."

He faced the Second with a deadly warning, ripe with the knowledge of the only thing that had kept him alive so far during the years he had been forced to bend under the First and Second's sadistical games with him.

Ailith slapped him again, nails and all, hard enough for him to know that his spite had worked. The Second always had been too quick to violence.

The black curtain that concealed the small alcove jerked open, and in walked the pale lioness that was the First. Her blue irises were narrowed and cutting, her sleek features stoic, and she struck the other side of Emyr's face.

"Trying to escape is new." Scorn underlay her voice. Both of them knew he'd probably never had made it past the door.

"Good morning as well, darling. You must agree that it was worth a shot."

"Oh, I'm sure it was." Her eyes glinted in the fragments of light from the main hall. "But now it's just all the more fun for us. Aren't you lucky I'm in a bad mood."

He smiled weakly, his mouth twisting in grim acknowledgement. He shifted in his seat, shaking his bound hands behind him, and looked carefully at the First. "Ailith," he said, "the bindings are a bit unnecessary now."

"I'm sure," the readhead bit back drily. Her constant movement slowed as the First lay a hand on her shoulder.

"We can always tie him up again later." Her voice was crooning, a promise that Emyr never enjoyed. "There's no need for them in the Vaults at least."

Ailith leaned over to cut the bindings, her ire rolling off of her. Emyr stared at the bottom corner of the curtain, his attention focused on the feeling of her sharp nails pricking his scarred skin and as the knife dragged across his knuckles in a reckless hack job. When she was done, and when she tossed the remnants of the tape onto the floor, he stood and gently rubbed his wrists.

"So archaic of you, dear Ailith," he said.

"She'll show you archaic," Isolde purred. The Second turned to her slowly, a glimmer of macabre delight flashing in her eyes. There was no need for her to voice the question there. The First tilted her head slightly. The delight spread across Ailith's face, twisting her lips in a wicked grin.

Disgust roiled in the pit of Emyr's stomach, but as usual he quieted it with a tightening of his lips. He'd learned a while ago that his preferences didn't matter, and that showing emotion and discomfort only made it last longer. Then again, so did him talking back. But if anything, he wouldn't lose his voice.

Even if his body was taken and ruined.



He was paralyzed, his blood boiling his skin, and she was on top of him.

In the back of his mind he knew it wasn't real, not necessarily. This was all a part of the punishment. It was all just a move in the game, a reprimand from the player that had him barricaded in the corner, simply to let him know that he was at their mercy and that they could finish him and win at any time. He must have really gone too far this time, because Gryffil was especially reserved for nights they wanted to dig his pathetic existence in and gloat when he squirmed.

And squirm, he did.

He couldn't tell if it was someone with Griffyl's face on top of him or if everything had been put inside of his head. Maybe they were on the bed, already tangled up together, and Emyr was just writhing on the floor alone. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd woken up that way, eventually released from the hallucination after they had finally climaxed together. He'd hear them laugh at his weakened state and feel them spit on him.

He could feel his magic screaming within him, attacking and throwing itself at the foreign blood fresh in his system, at the sour twang of Ailith's blood and at her rotten power that was rooting itself into his mind. Since the very first time Ailith joined Isolde on her sadistic power trips, Emyr had always wondered if she could feel it too - how their magic both repelled each other so violently, yet sang to such similar tunes that sometimes he could feel them mixing within him before they wrenched apart.

He yearned for one of them to make a mistake during these sessions. Isolde was too clever for that, but Ailith, Ailith, was just reckless and impulsive enough for it. He knew the way she was when she was riled up. He knew, without Isolde there to remind her, just how forgetful she could be.

And when that happened, Emyr would make his final move; even if it cost him the game.

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her mother, the two of them made their way into the Vaults, where they were greeted by the rest of the covens. Unlike the other heirs, Sage was not eagerly awaiting her mother's resignation as matriarch. Kristen was a benevolent woman and a powerful witch. Her people looked up to her mother, as Sage did. If you cared about your coven, you would not be so eager to lose such an inspiring leader, even if you were aching to take her place. And Sage cared about her coven very much. Plus, there was still so much to learn. Even her mother was still learning as the days went by, as life handed them lemon after lemon. Today was a prime example of that. Kristen had not been prepared for a situation like this, and Sage was glad she wasn't the one in charge.

Skuld was missing. The other Fates too, she reminded herself, but Skuld. The Fate of the Future was her coven's Fate and her people loved Skuld dearly. She was the epitome of hope; her ability to look into the future helped the witches stay alive. Now, with Skuld gone, her coven felt despair. They were hopelessly blind and had no idea what would or could happen. Every move was made with caution, every sentence carefully filtered. Even Sage herself, the voice was reason, was scared, though she didn't dare show it.

She felt familiar eyes on herself as she and Kristen entered the room and stood before the groups. The covens rarely mixed; huddled together to the right was her own. She looked to them first, trying to silently determine how they were doing. She locked eyes with her Second. Arwen's calm blue eyes always put Sage at ease and tonight was no different. Sage took a deep breath. Arwen smiled slightly, then turned her attention the the matriarchs.

Sage respectfully clasped her hands behind her back and listened closely, though she already knew it all. The Fates were gone and no one knew why. As a result, everyone's magic was losing strength. She already felt the impact when they had been outside earlier, the lack of comfort she felt, being cloaked by the darkness. It didn't cling to her as tightly as it used to. At least dawn was here. Soon, she would go outside and test her powers.

When the matriarchs finished speaking, the crowds resumed their quiet murmurings. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isolde run off and rolled her eyes. The girl should be checking in on her people, not running off to get into mischief with her Second. Irritating.

"I'll be right back, Mother," she said, then made her way past the two other covens to reach her own. Arwen came to her as she arrived. "How is it?"

Arwen glanced to her right, then her left, then leaned in so she and Sage could quietly talk. "Bad. Everyone is terrified. Mother and the rest of the council are trying to keep the peace."

"Have the others said anything?"

Arwen shook her head. "But if those snotty Past girls sneer at us one more time, I'm going to break their noses."

Sage couldn't help but grin. Her Second was rarely angered, but when she was, she had a temper that could rival a Present witch. And nothing quite boiled her blood like Isolde Aegil.

"Okay, I need to get back to Mother and see what I can do to help. Will you stay?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," she smiled at her friend, then turned back the way she came and left, making her way back to Kristen. Despite her fear, she knew there was no one better to leave in charge of her coven than Arwen, her mother, and the rest of the council. The love for her people knew no bounds, as well as the love for her Fate, and Sage was prepared to do anything to see to Skuld's safe return.

Rhosyn Nilan | Inside the Vaults

Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. In--

A burning pain seared the skin on her chest and cut her breath off with a gasp. Every one that followed was quick, the spaces between them too short for her to recover in. Pressure built in her chest as her skin shrunk around her rib cage, and her heart's beating only intensified through her body. Her pulse drummed fast against her skull, which irritated her already splitting headache.

If she could, she would have steadied the spinning world with her hands, but as her dry skin turned to stone, she found them trapped around her knees. Her legs were forced into her chest as she tried to free herself to no avail. Long ago, she'd been told to make herself smaller; that would calm her panic attacks quicker. But every time had the same result: her chest burned, her skin cracked, and her panic only flared. She'd stay stuck in that position until she could pry her hands away and shatter every inch of her skin once more.

It turned an already unpleasant experience into one hellish in nature.

A few minutes passed like that as hysteria climbed up her throat. Her breaths were still rugged, but just even enough so she wasn’t suffocating anymore, or at least she didn’t feel like she was. Having taken control of her breaths once more, a relative silence fell where her gasps once stood. It uncovered the dull ring that sang deep in her ears, but she didn’t mind it so much. It gave her a sense of almost comfort.

She couldn’t tell how long it’d been since the matriarchs had stopped talking, but she knew it’d been long enough. The witches that would leave had left and there would be no better an opening than now to escape back to her hole of a home. At least, until later in the evening when she was required to gather again.

A hiccup caught in her throat. She shoved the thought from her mind.

Another moment passed as she waited in her tiny alcove. It took that entire minute for her to collect together enough courage to even dare move, still fearing discovery. She might yelp too loud, someone might see her crawling out, maybe someone will recognize her and—

No. The time is now. Forcing her lungs full of air, she held her breath as her muscles stretched to pull herself out of the huddle. A muffled cry sounded in the small space, but scarcely loud enough for her to hear; she should be safe. She could hear the crack of her skin breaking as the pain ignited again. She managed to push herself up to a stand, but the fire didn’t subside, fueled on by the blood pumping through her veins.

She wanted to stop there, return to her comfort on the floor and wait for someone to find her dead, but she swallowed the pain and pressed forward. All she had to do was inconspicuously find her way to the exit without anyone spotting her. It shouldn’t be too obvious, right? Witches leave all the time.

For the first few steps, her walk was rigid, since she shied away from moving muscles that weren’t required to walk. Her torso stayed absolutely still, so not to further agitate her skin, and her steps were small and hesitant. By the time she’d reached the black curtain, however, she’d forcefully loosened up. Hopefully the winces didn’t show on her face.

As she stepped out into the hall once more, the sounds of conversing witches touched her ears. They drowned out the soft ring from them so another blow struck at her surety.

She gazed across the room to the nearest set of stairs that lead out to the surface. It wouldn’t matter where they led her, just as long as she could get out of the collection of witches. A grand mass of witches stood in her way, and she decided it might be too conspicuous to dart through them.

She’d likely have to mill around them so no one would pay attention to her exit.

So she began with her eyes set out for the center of the vast space. After a step or two, she couldn’t concentrate on one place, and so her gaze flickered from the exit to the floor, to a group of witches she passed, back to the floor, until she was sure everyone’s eyes were on her. Or probably not, since they all seemed too absorbed in their company to care.

By the time she’d made it to the stairs, it took all her self-control not to sprint to the stairs. She tried to muster confidence in her steps, holding her goal in her eyes. She’d make it out unscathed!

“Is that… Rho? Rho!”

Everything froze. A chilling sensation poured down her spine as Rho stopped midstride. The voice made her want to run and kept her from moving at the same time. She closed her eyes and hoped that if she concentrated hard enough, it would go away.

Someone squeezed her shoulder hard and spun her around, the voice saying again, “Oh, it’s been so long, Rho!”

Rho took a half step back to balance herself, but the grip on her shoulder was too tight. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes again, knowing exactly the face she’d be confronted with. Her heart shattered in her chest as she looked into Solice’s dark gray eyes.

A wickedly wide smile crawled upon Solice’s lips as she saw the fear gripping Rho. “You haven’t changed a bit in those years, have you?” Despite being the older witch, Rho couldn’t help but shrink away from her sister. She hardly registered the words being said to her as her skin tingled under the touch, even through the fabric of her clothes.

A small group of three witches stood a few feet behind Solice, watching the two in their one-sided interaction. Rho somehow caught the gaze of one of them, who snickered as she ducked her chin down to the floor. Her chance at escape had slipped away and now she was stuck somewhere she didn’t know how to get out of.

“What? Was your tongue scarred too much too?” Solice finally said, bringing her face closer to Rho, a hint of anger stirring from Rho’s passiveness. A lock of her shining white hair brushed Rho’s side as Solice squeezed Rho’s shoulder just hard enough to make her flinch. Rho shook her head in response, biting back tears.

“Well then,” she hissed, the playful torment in her voice turning cold, “I hope you’re not as silent when we meet again. I’ve rather missed you.” Rho’s face drained of heat just as her chest started to burn in the memory again.

Before Rho could say anything in response, Solice shoved Rho aside, causing her to stumble back a few steps. Then, her tormentor and the group behind her continued toward the exit and up the stairs, leaving Rho suddenly alone. Suddenly the only thing she felt was dread pitting up in her stomach as she was finally able to escape.

Joaquin Frey | The bar at the Vaults
*

He first heard the news from two sister witches whose hair looked as if constructed out of hundreds of tiny springs. They sat themselves right there at the bar, and from the moment he noticed them Joaquin was sure they weren't from around. The outskirts of the city, he guessed, and most likely not the strongest among them all. One of them wore sleeves short enough for her Present coven mark to be visible, and Joaquin found himself eyeing their bags, wondering if there was anything in there that would be worth learning from. He had taken a peek into books that dealt with fire magic; thanks to them, he was able to create a spark and move the flame from one candle to another -- given that they were close enough and he was rested enough -- with a move of his fingers, which he and every human he ever partied with considered to be quite a cute little trick. It wasn't serious magic, though, not like the kind he managed to acquire from a Future coven's witch overly talkative under certain influences, and that could blind people around him for just long enough to allow him to escape-- and most likely not like the kind he knew some members of the Past coven could use, such as manipulating the oxygen or iron levels in one's blood. Joaquin never tried performing that spell - he couldn't quite imagine when or why he'd need its effects - but he was pretty sure affecting other people like that had to take quite a lot of concentration, probably more than moving a flame a couple of centimeters left or right. Knowing more fire magic, the kind that went beyond party tricks, was definitely on his list.

The older of the two sister witches, the one with visible wrists, raised her hand to call him closer, and ordered the Phoenix. Expectedly so; nearly everyone not frequenting the Vaults very often ordered that, and Joaquin wasn't completely sure what was the reason behind it. They couldn't have really thought it was made of any part of any phoenix, could they? Sure, he thought as he prepared the order in two fashionably curvy glasses, one of the ingredients was a somewhat suspicious blood he was getting in small unlabeled bottles from equally suspicious sources, but Joaquin knew a thing or two about the mythical creatures most witches and humans equally feared. As a child, he crept around the mountains, having snuck from the city with a notebook in hand, and tried his best to just catch a glimpse and draw any of them; he couldn't imagine a scenario in which any person, witch or not, would manage to come close enough to draw their blood and live to bottle it up.

"Exactly what I need," the younger curly witch exclaimed as he got them their Phoenixes. He smiled to himself. Even being older than she looked, she seemed to be barely more than a girl; he highly doubted she was as experienced a drinker as that statement lead to suggest.
The older sister ignored her drink. Instead, she reached before he managed to pull away, and caught his wrist in a distressingly tight grip. Her eyes slid over his skin.
"You're human?"
She said it with a tone more teasing than a Past coven witch would, but more malevolent than he'd liked hearing. The next moment, he felt his skin heat up under her touch, and instinctively tried to pull away. Coven witches. Always such a need to show off their self-proclaimed supremacy.
"Human who gets us free drinks," the younger witch argued and winked at him. Joaquin kept his expression calm and, with some effort, refrained from rubbing his wrist when the older witch let go of it.

Free drinks. He sighed. It could've been worse.
It wasn't the first time he was considered an easy target, even though most witches tended to bully the stray human guests more than him. But he was used to it, enough so not to be bothered: not because he thought he deserved it or that they were right, but because he knew well enough that starting an argument with a coven witch could only ever end badly for him. Possibly, he daydreamed sometimes, a relatively weak one, and in a duel that didn't include the possibility of any of her coven friends jumping in. But even so, not now, not yet; he still had too much to learn.

"The magic is fading," he heard one of the sisters say to the other. He didn't turn towards them, instead silently preparing their seconds, but he made sure to listen carefully. "You know, I heard that Siobhan took it really badly, that's why she didn't join us today."
There was an eyeroll obvious in the older sister's voice. "She didn't join us because she's still scared that Past b--witch would take her up on that duel Siobhan once challenged her to, and she's too afraid to go through with it."
"I don't know," the younger one dragged. "Siobhan is pretty strong. I guess it makes sense she would feel bad if her magic just suddenly turned much weaker than it used to be. Besides... Even if you're right, that Past witch must also be much weaker now, so fear doesn't sound like a good reason."

They paused in their conversation as Joaquin brought them their drinks, and stayed silent until he pulled away again.

He stayed silent too, perfectly content with keeping all his thoughts to himself and not showing he'd heard anything they said. Magic was fading -- it seemed to be more than a rumour, and affecting all the covens equally -- did that mean that his magic would start disappearing too? He glanced around the bar. Witches sat around in pairs or small groups, rarely alone, discussing likely the same things in hushed voices.
^

Alone in a small room he shared with boxed ingreedients and a cupboard of cleaning equipment, Joaquin approached the only window and ran his hand over his face in thought. In the years he'd been working in the Vaults, and some time before that while living in the city, he's seen witches fight each other, even kill each other, among many other things; but he never saw something happen that would force them to unite in a way this surely would. He checked the label on one of the bigger boxes before carefully sitting on it and looking around the room. With big changes all around, his world would change too. Covens united, magic fading, Fates gone... Stealing book magic would get difficult, if not impossible, and using it would become an even bigger risk.
He pictured a symbol in his mind, the variation of the one he had tattooed on his lower back, arranged his fingers and flicked his wrist up, watching with a nostalgic smile as a small light materialised in the air in front of him. It wasn't very dark in his little room, so the spark -- as he decided to call them, after figuring that they weren't alive enough to be called light bugs -- was tiny and kept flying around him and the objects around him. Was it pitch black, he knew, it would be bigger and glowing brighter, and with another command or two it would light the way several steps before him. It was harmless and simple, and helpful for finding things, but as he watched it now he was thinking of something else.

Ever since he arrived, or even before that, the city has been a danger to him. Coven witches, he knew since he was a child, were nothing good, and if they for some reason caught him stealing their knowledge, or considered him a threat or a suspect in this whole mess with vanishing magic, he wouldn't survive long enough to create another spark, let alone consider serious defense. Regardless of all the knowledge still waiting for him here, he couldn't stay, could he? No, magic fading had to have meant both coven and book magic, and in that case time was running out. Without magic by his side, he wasn't sure if he'd manage to get back to the mountains unnoticed and unharmed-- he had to leave, and he had to leave soon.
He stood up and frowned at the spark as it hovered up in front of his face. Unless.. Perhaps the fading of magic referred only to the magic of the covens, and it could mean that they'd focus on that problem and let their guard down elsewhere, and that is always a good thing for someone looking to borrow some forbidden knowledge.

"What do you think?" He sighed as the spark, expectedly, stayed silent, and lowered his voice to an almost inaudible whispe. "Yes, I might be getting a bit greedy there... But look where it got me."

The floor outside the door creeked, and with a quick clap of his fingertips he made the spark disappear just a moment before his manager stepped in.

"What are you hiding in here for?" She gestured at the box he was sitting on. "We're crowded to the point of needing extra hands, and the hands we own are wasting time lounging in the storage room."

He composed his best sheepish grin. "I'm sorry, I was just looking for some more tail essence... We seem to be out."

"And the notion got you all dizzy so you had to take a moment, yes, I'm sure." She shook her head as he got up, but he knew she wasn't really angry; the day was too good for business for her to be angry at him no matter what happened. "Go get some tail essence then. Worst case, ask around in the Arcana, and try to not waste your time; the kitchens need it too, we have a large family coming for dinner in an hour."

He suppressed the urge to salute and hurried down the stairs and out the back door, grateful to avoid the crowd downstairs although the task had interfered with his planning. To leave or to stay, the arguments battled in his mind with every step he took. He knew this town; he knew that the merchant who usually sold common ingreedients such as tail essence was away for a delivery, he knew exactly where to turn and which streets to avoid if he wanted to stay away from a flower shop that sold carnivorous plants and liked demonstrating on human passerbys, he knew even which stair to jump over behind the tailor's parlour as to not fall prey to a freezing spell that the tailor's daughter put there as a prank. And the town knew him, if not closely then at least as the person who listened to all kinds of stories and problems and offered to keep secrets over acceptably low-priced alcohol. Leaving would mean turning his back on all of that, and starting anew somewhere else, or travelling without a destination for the rest of his life, probably far from any books on magic of any kind.

Then again, leaving would mean being safe, a notion that he most definitely needed... If his magic was about to fade like the covens' was.
^