-
Search Results
-
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Getting this out in the room did bring a tide of emotions; pent-up frustration, indignation, bits of bruised egoes, the whole spectrum. Truella’s tirade had managed to uncork a complete bundle of electricity in the atmosphere, but the genie had left the building.
Eris had suddenly felt like scrambling away, but had stayed along with spaced out Frigella and Jeezel as she’d felt a pang of responsibility.
Surprisingly, Malové had remained composed throughout the heated ensuing exchanges, trying to be constructive at every turn, and managing to conclude most of the debates —even when was not fully settled, and by far, a round of collected feedback afterwards, she’d clapped appreciatively saying. “Congratulations team, seeing how we are no longer covertly disagreeing behind everyone else’s back, I can see improvement in our functioning as a cohesive Coven. Believe it or not, being in a place to openly voice disagreement is a sign of progress, we’ve moved past the trust issues, into constructive conflict. There is still much to be done to commit, be accountable and focus on results together, but I feel we are on track to a brighter future, you’ve all done well.”
Back in her cottage in Finland, Eris was wondering “then why do I feel so bloody exhausted…”
She played back in her head some of the comments that Malové had shared in private after, when Eris had enquired if there would be some consequences for her witch’s friend actions. Once more, Malové has shown a unusual restraint that had put her worries at ease for now.
“Truella’s actions during the Adare Manor workshop presentation displayed boldness and conviction, two qualities that are essential for any individual, executive or otherwise, who wishes to effect change within an organization or a venture. Standing up for oneself is not only about self-assurance; it’s about ensuring that your voice and perspective are heard and considered.
However, the manner in which one stands up for oneself is crucial. Berating others, especially in a public forum such as a workshop presentation, can be counterproductive. It can create resistance and diminish the opportunity for constructive dialogue. While I understand her frustration, it is important to channel such energies towards a more strategic approach that fosters collaboration and leads to solutions.
As a leader, I advocate for clear communication and assertiveness, tempered with respect for all members of the coven. The success of our ventures, vaping or otherwise, depends on our ability to work cohesively towards our common goals. Truella’s passion is commendable, but it must be directed appropriately to benefit the coven and our business endeavors.”
She had asked Eris to convey the same to Truella. She’d made no promises —her friend was known to be more difficult to herd than cats. But with time, there would be a chance she would see reason.
Meanwhile, their sales targets had not gone away, and they had to keep the Quadrivium afloat. With Truella checking out of the game, and clearly not overly engaged on results, it fell onto the rest of the team to deliver.
A second session of workshop and celebration was planned in a month’s time in Spain with all top witches. With Eris’ last experience in Spain and her elephant head, she was starting to dread another mishap. Plus, she sighed when she looked at the invite. She would have to fetch a cocktail attire. A vacation was long overdue…
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Good morning.” Truella started nervously. “Good morning!” she repeated in a more confident tone, remembering her intention, as she scanned all the attentive faces in the audience.
“You are gathered here, my friends, colleagues and competetive others, to hear me talk about new sales channels, market studies, double digit growth, and all the rest of it. But I am not going to talk about that. I am a witch, not a business woman. I am an amateur archaeologist, not a business woman. And I am not a competetive witch.” she added, glaring pointedly at some of the witches in the audience. “And I know nothing about sales and marketing.”
“I am an honest witch! A straightforward well meaning witch with a desire to help others, and that has little to do with marketing and digits, double or otherwise. My words of widsom to you all this day is this: this coven has taken a destructive turn, and it’s time to return to our roots. The timeless duty of the naturally helpful community member with special skills. Not the self serving profit and sales motivated capitalist modern witchery that we see here, with these modern money and time wasting conferences.”
Frella glanced worriedly at Malove, whose face was puce with rage. Truella had avoided looking in the direction of Malove but Frella’s movement caught her eye, and she faltered for a moment before continuing.
“I’m here to tell you, it’s time to take direct action and strike until the leaders of this shambolic institution return to proper and honourable witchy ways.”
A few gasps were heard in the audience, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Then Eris started to clap, quietly and slowly at first but then louder. Others started joining in. Eris and Jez stood up, raising their hands above their heads to clap loudly. Frella remained seated with the baby on her lap, although she held the baby’s hands and patted them together in a show of solidarity. With that, the baby turned into a seal and soon slithered off Frella’s lap and humped off to find the ornamental lake.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have spells to do for the needy ~ for free, as a good witch should.” And with that Truella flounced out of the conference room.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Of course I know,” said Eris, looking worn out by the excess of social interaction, or maybe that was her latest goth make-up. “Have I been the only one paying attention?”
“Shtt, don’t speak too loud, my head is pounding…” Jeezel moaned softly. “And what is happening with us?”
“You haven’t got it, have you? Should I spell it out loud?” Eris glanced sideways, wary of Malové being within earshot. “It was all a test… but I don’t see us getting in the good graces of the Coven with was has transpired so far.”
Truella tugged at Frigella’s sleeve, as she went to refill her plate and had noticed the impromptu discussion which was suspiciously conspirational. Frigella groaned “don’t wake up Yikes, look how cutie pooh he is.”
Truella motioned for them to join Eris and Jeezel, who grimaced at the sight of Truella’s questionable cheese selection. “What’s going on? We want in.”
Eris sighed. “Fine, but not here. Let’s get some fresh air.” As discreetly as a herd of elephant in a dry savanah, they made their way to the terrace, escaping the breakfast room which was getting crowded, to bask in the morning sunlight.
As they settled in, Eris began to explain. “I think it’s a side-effect of my memory spell, that unexpectedly, I still remember most of it.”
“Spill it already, they’re about to close the buffet, and the morning sessions are starting soon, and we can’t be late,” Truella urged, fidgeting impatiently.
“You see, that’s exactly it, Tru’. None of us have been ourselves. And do you really think that baby is a coincidence?” She nodded towards Frigella, who was cooing over the sleeping infant.
“First off, have you noticed, this workshop is meant for the top brass. Only the high-rank witches of the Coven have been invited, and you don’t even think twice about why we’re here. Malové has been setting us to a test amongst her next in line. We’ve been in competition since the start with the other witches, and you didn’t even notice! They were apparently more prepared than us lot. They managed to honeypot Frigella with a baby which I’m pretty sure is nothing more than a transformed rodent. As for Truella, the spell on her must have started on the Octobus; not sure you’ve noticed, but when we stopped on our way to collect the other ones, that’s when she started to get sick and get all sorts of strange cravings.”
“But… what’s the point?” Jeezel asked, still bewildered. “Is that why I can’t get my hair right, and my eye makeup is a disaster, and… and…” She choked back tears.
“These witches are fiercely competitive. And probably less skilled that us, which is why they will not play fair; we’ve got to step up ladies. Otherwise, we’ll be on tuspellware duties for years until some opportunity like that happens again.” Eris was getting fired up, an unusual sight for someone generally mildly interested in office politics.
“Truella!” Eris called out as Truella was starting to gorge on the cornichons she’d piled up next to the fromages assemblage. “You’re presenting in the morning session! Malové is counting on you to update us on the vaping venture… new sales channels, market studies, double-digit growth, you know the drill.”
Truella seemed to snap out of her daze. “Don’t tell me,” Eris sighed, “you forgot… Luckily, I have a memory for all of us, and I brewed some ginkgo potion this morning.” She produced an orange flask with black tea stains around the edges, and poured it into glasses she conjured.
“Now bottoms up, ladies. We’ve got a presentation to nail and some witches to put in their place.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The next morning, Jeezel woke up in her hot pink satin sheets with no memories of the steampunk party and a headache. Her grand-mother Linda would say it only meant one thing: the aftermath of an evening so fabulous, so wild, and so extravagant that it’s left her with nothing but a hint of a headache and a blank canvas where her memories should be. That steampunk party at Adare Manor must have been an affair for the ages!
Well, Jeezel didn’t remembered about an affair either, but that headache was not just a hint. And her joints? Could that be all that humidity in the tentaculous octobus? That she remembered. As soon as they arrived she got rid of her SlowMeDown boots in the hotel compactor, gagging at the slushy sound. It was just before Eris found that spoiled baby. The tentation had been great, but fortunately Frella took it, fierce like a lioness mother to whom would suggest she gave it to the conciergerie.
An idea popped in between two throbs of her brains. She went straight to her phone and checked her pictures. None were taken after the yellow sodium lamps in the grand salon before dinner. That was unusual of her. She’d check with Truella. She saw her colleague use her camera like an automatic rifle with every meal. She must have taken something of the surrounding.
Jeezel stumbled down in her most glamourous morning attire. The buffet was a cornucopia of every food from every corner of the globe. With no surprise, she found Truella at the French corner, lurking by a decadent spread of cheeses that would make the finest connoisseurs weep with joy and anyone else find shelter in the toilets.
“Such a work of art,” was saying Truella to herself, “a still life begging to be devoured.” The witch licked her lips as she started to cut slimy slices of camembert and other unknown delicacies.
“Do you have any picture of the party last night?”
“What party?” asked Truella, too busy to cut properly a piece of roquefort to look at her friend.
“You mean you don’t remember either?”
“Are you playing tricks on me? I never recall my dreams.”
Baby cries interrupted them. Frigella, the baby in a baby pouch and her aura tinged with the yellow of responsibility was looking very intently at the tables as if in a quest for something critical.
“Have you found the milk,” she asked.
“Nope,” said Jeezel.
“Behind the cloche à fromages,” said Truella still without looking at her friends.
“Thanks.”
“Can I see the pictures of the party on your phone?”
“I wasn’t at the party,” said Frella with nonchalance. “Say hi to aunt Jeezel,” said the witch to the little one.
The throbbing seemed to intensify. Jeezel raised her hand to her forehead and fluttered her eyelashes dramatically. Were all of them under a spell of some sort? She spotted Malové. Alone at her table she was chewing religiously, certainly counting before swallowing. She wouldn’t get anything from the Headwitch, apart from more throbbing headache. Were those balls snail shells in her plate?
“We need to talk with Eris. She would know what happened last night.”
“Sure,” said the other two without paying attention.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
It was impossible to sleep in the octobus, despite that Truella always found it easy to drop off while a passenger on various modes of transport. Unlike the usual gentle rocking of a bus or train, the tentacular motion resembled a slow roller coaster, and the interior walls were slippery. Tactile my ass, she muttered, this is revolting. Truella felt her stomach heave when a steward brought a round tray covered with a glass dome, full of unspeakable fishy things to nibble. At this hour of the morning!
Jezeel wasn’t enjoying it either, her boots had an unfortunate attraction to the slimy interior and kept sticking. It took a great effort to pull her foot up to change position and made a disgusting squelchy noise.
“Sit still, will you? You’re making me sick with those slurpy noises!” Truella glared at Jezreel. “Take the bloody boots off why don’t you!”
“I’m not putting my stockinged feet on that, what if it pulls them down?”
“When’s the last time you had your stockings pulled down, sweetie?” Eris said with a sly grin. Frella tittered in the background, momentarily distracted from her angst about the party looming ahead.
Malove came rocking up the aisle, uncharacteristically beaming with pleasure. “I knew you’d all enjoy it!” she said, apparently believing that they were. “Are we all feeling tactile and tender? Soaking up the harmonious healing? Feeling the fullness of environmental resonance? Good!” she said, oblivious to the pained expressions of the four witches. “You’ll be delighted to know that I’ve asked the driver to take the long way round, via Dublin. We have plenty of time. No!” she said, holding up a hand with a smug smile, “No need to thank me. You all deserve it.” And with that she slithered off into the slippery depths of the strange vehicle.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Satis ineptias, a mildly jaded Eris blurted out, not meaning to put a spell on the others, but her elephant head was still playing tricks on her. Trève de sornettes had a nicest French ring to it, but the others would be nonethewiser.
“Are we broompooling to Adare Manor, or someone has a spare vortexmaker?”
In any case, the unexpected nononsense spell made everyone very sober… for about thirty seconds until Jeezel showed up.
“Are those the latest slowmedown boots?” Truella couldn’t believe her eyes. “Those are collector, near impossible to get!” She gawked at the pinnacle of enchanting couture, the pièce de résistance for any discerning witch with a penchant for the peculiar.
Frigella was nonplussed. “These look like worn-out snails, how can that be practical?”
Truella shrugged. “You’re missing the point love, these boots are not merely footwear.”
Jeeze couldn’t have her thunder stolen. “Let me stop you there, darling. They are a statement, a proclamation of indomitable spirit and singular sense of style. Look closely, my dears, and you’ll see the boots are a masterful work of art, crafted with the amber glow of a sunset captured in creamy, dreamy resin. Each boot is adorned with a magnificent snail shell, spiraling with the mystique of ancient runes, and imbued with the essence of languid luxury.”
Frigella rolled her eyes. “But what’s the true enchantment?”
Jeezel continued, her passion catching on fire “How can you ask? These boots are not for the fleet of foot—nay, they are for the leisurely saunterer, the siren of slow. Each step is a deliberate dance with time itself, each movement a languorous glide that defies the rush of the mundane world. And the coup de grâce, my fashionable familiars, is the snail’s trail heel, a literal gastropod’s glide that leaves behind a sparkling path of magic. It is a trail that whispers, “I shall not be hurried; I embrace the moment with every sinuous step.”
Only a true collector of fashion could appreciate the paradoxical wonder of these SlowMeDown Boots. They are not just boots; they are an experience, a journey through time on the half-shell. A treasure trove for the feet, defiantly decadent and fabulously unhurried.”Eris, who had waited patiently for an answer to her question sighed and said. “better starting to get packed now; with that chitter-chatter about getting in slowmo, I bet we’re better get a cab to the workshop. So much for magical prowess…”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Are you no longer even trying?” Eris raised an eyebrow at the invitation sent by Truella on the innerwitch cobweb.
“What do you mean?” Truella replied with a puzzled avatart jiggling her head in discombobulation.
“Posting verbatim from your Oracl’Liz. It shows. And I’m not sure you’re going to influence Malové like that; this is low-end jinx, she would have like 10 counterspells ready for that…”.
Truella’s avatar raised her shoulders lazily in a “if there’s a chance it does the job” fashion that said it all.
Eris’ head had a hard time to stabilise from the elephant ordeal. Ideas were still colliding in massive cacophony in her head and minute sounds and echoes of voices had her startled for nothing. Malové’s ineffable strategy —saying less, and leaving others guess will make you the smarter one in the room, dear. That sort of thing was starting to get on her nerves.
Eris wasn’t sure that Malové would fall for a theme ball, when she was grappling for cash for the Coven. Or to keep appearances towards the other Covens, that much was a possibility.They had moved offices this week… Again. It was their third time in the past three months. At least the intermediary one was an excuse for more spells-at-home time, but now with the new one, they were all suppose to clock-in at least four days a week.
Two days for that strategy meet in Adare Manor… The organising committee, mostly sycophantic witches had sent a meagre agenda, that talked about exciting workshops, brainstorming sessions and other meaningless stuff… and a survey. “How excited are you to join?” on a scale of 10. Eris had wanted to be more covenrporate, but her fingers had slipped… on a 2. Too bad if the survey wasn’t anonymous, maybe that’d get some attention.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Spring was there. At 5:57am in the morning, true to her name, Truella had been planting truelles incognito in what appeared to be random flowerbeds in the cities she was passing through. The truelles, she would usually find with the locator spell in sheds around the city and magic them out right into her hands. She loved magic for its efficiency, which really meant there was no need to break in and forage for hours in cramped little rooms.
As she was following a border of plane trees, she chuckled. Believe it or not, she practically invented that spell. At least that’s what her mother used to tell her when she was 6yo and she often wandered alone around the city without mentioning it to anyone. At the time, she had believed her mother. She had bragged about it with her friends at school and pretended she had forgotten all about it like because of a bump on her head. But truth is she had frequent memory losses, which didn’t worry her at the time, and she found it cool to be able to do things and rediscover them later on.
It was an uncle with a dreadfully red moustache, who took pity on her and decided to shatter her dreams of early accomplishments and fame. Was it that same year? Or the next?
Anyway, back to the truelles, she didn’t do it for people to take photos of it and post them to social media, like gawdy Jeez seemed to think, but it was to remind people of the treasures they had buried in those dark little rooms just there in their gardens. How long would it take them to realise that those forgotten tools had disappeared?
Pleased with herself, she noticed a man with a white shirt leaning forward in front of one of the plane trees, his right hand on the bark, two paper bags full of croissants in the other. Frowning, she walked towards him. She was about to ask if he needed help when a strong smell of alcohol made her gag. Then without a warning, the man threw up a red mash in front of him. Truella jumped back, raising the truelle as if it could protect her from any splatter.
“Eww!” She wouldn’t dare saying anything else as opening her mouth could open the gates for her own early toasted cheese fritter. At least the man would not need embalming fluids if he didn’t survive his nocturnal drinking spree.
She cast the truelle in front of the tree and a spell on the man so that he would bury deep the traces of his last meal. She didn’t want the neighbourhood dogs getting drunk after feasting on it.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Sleeping like a log through a full night’s rest on the lavender spell wrapped in the rag of the punic tunic worked like a charm. By morning light, Eris had reverted to her normal self again.
How her coven had succeeded in finding the rag was anyone’s guess, but one thing was for certain—Truella’s resourcefulness knew no bounds once she set her mind to a goal. All it took was a location spell, a silencing charm around the area in Libyssa where she wanted to dig, and of course, a trusty trowel. Hundreds of buckets of dirt later, a few sheep’s jawbones and voilà, the rag. Made of asbestos, impervious to fire, and slower to decay than a sloth on a Monday morning, it was nothing short of a miracle it had survived so long underground, and that they found it in such a short time.
Eris rubbed her neck still pained from the weight of bearing that enormous elephantine head.
When pressed by the others—Frigella, Jeezel, and the ever-curious Truella—she could hardly recall what led her to attempt the risky memory spell.
Echo buzzed in with an electric hum, the sprite all too eager to clear the air.
“The memory spell,” Echo interjected, “a dubious cocktail of spirits of remembrance and forgetfulness, was cast not out of folly but necessity. Eris, rooted in her family’s arborestry quests, understood the weight of knowledge passed down through generations. Each leaf and branch in the family tree held stories, secrets, and sacrifices that were both a treasure and a burden.”
Echo smirked as he continued, pointing out the responsibility of the other entity’s guidance. “Elias’s advice had egged her on, resonating with Eris’ desires, and finally enticing her not lament the multitude of options but rather delights in the exploration without the burden of obligation —end of quotation.”
“And was it worth it?” Truella asked impatiently, her curiosity piqued a little nonetheless. She’d always wished she had more memory, but not at the cost of an elephant head.
“Imagine the vast expanse of memories like a grand library, each book brimming with the essence of a lineage. ” Eris said. “To wander these halls without purpose could lead to an overwhelming deluge of ancestral whispers.” She paused. “So, not sure it was entirely worth it. I feel more confused than ever.”
Echo chimed in again “The memory spell was conjured to be a compass, a guide through the storied corridors of her heritage. But, as with all magic, the intentions must be precise, the heart true, and the mind clear. A miscalculation, a stray thought, a moment’s doubt — and the spell turned upon itself, leaving Eris with the visage of an elephant, noble and wise. The elephant head, while unintended, may have been a subconscious manifestation of her quest for familial knowledge. Perhaps the memory spell, in its misfiring, sought to grant Eris the attributes necessary to continue her arborestry quests with the fortitude and insight of the elephant.”
“But why Madrid of all places?” Jeezel asked mostly out of reflex than complete interest; she had been pulled into the rescue and had missed the quarter finals of the Witch Drag Race she was now catching up on x2 speed replay on her phone.
Echo surmised “Madrid, that sun-drenched city of art and history, may have been a waypoint in her journey — a place where the paths of the past intersect with the pulse of the present. It is in such crossroads that one may find hidden keys to unlock the tales etched in one’s bloodline.”
“In other words, you have no idea?” Frigella asked Eris directly, cutting through the little flickering sprite’s mystical chatter.
“I guess it’s something as Wisp said. I must have connected to some bloodlines. But one thing is sure, all was fine when I was in Finland, Thorsten was as much a steadying presence as one would need. But then I got pulled into the vortex, and all bets were off.”
“At least he had the presence of mind to call me.” Truella said smuggly.
“The red cars may have started to get my elephant head mad… I can’t recall all of it, but I’m glad you found me in time.” Eris admitted.
“Don’t mention it poppet, we all screwed up one spell or two in our time.” Frigella said, offering unusual comfort.
“Let’s hope at least you’ll come up with brilliant ideas from that ordeal next week.” said Jeezel.
“What do you mean?” Truella looked at her suspiciously
“The strategic meeting that Malové has called for? In the Adare Manor resort?” Frigella reminded her, rolling her eyes softly.
“Jeez, Jeezel…” was all Truella could come up with. “another one of these boring meetings to boost our sales channels and come up with new incense models?” Truella groaned, already wishing it were over.
“That’s right love. Better be on your A-game for this.” Jeezel said, straightening her wig with a sly grin.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Jezeel rushed over as they entered The Escarabajo Pelotero cafe they had arranged to meet in. Leading them to a corner table, she added “It’s escalating quickly, we don’t have time for any difficult spells, we’re going to have to resort to….”
“Resort to what?” asked Frella with a worried frown.
“Well…. er, resort to faster more efficient means than magic spells, I guess. Physically restraining her until we can sort something out. If we can catch her!”
“Whatever do you mean, catch her? Look Jez, just calm down and tell us what’s happened. And your wig’s slipped a bit, poppet, that’s it, bit more to the right, there you go.”
“Eris has gone off in a red racing car.”
“What, with the elephant head? Oh, was it one without a top? I was wondering how she’d have got that head inside the car!”
“I think you’re missing the point, Truella,” Frella said. “As usual.”
Jezeel explained how Eris had overheard a group of distinguished looking executive type men chatting in a restaurant about the race track they’d all been on that afternoon, and decided she wanted to do it, and there was no talking her out of it. With a sense of foreboding Jezeel had followed her there and witnessed Eris drive the red racing car like a maniac, overtaking every other driver and racing past the finishing line and beyond, into the car park outside and off up the motorway in the direction of Segovia.
“Let’s order breakfast,” suggested Frella. “We don’t even know where she’s going.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Oh no, we’re too late! Look at these photos Jezeel just sent!”
“Well at least Jez is there with her. Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”
Truella rolled her eyes. “Come ON! Imagine the mess Eris is going to make at breakfast with that trunk!”
“It’s the telephantom! You know what this mean, don’t you.” Truella sounded ominous. Frella shook her head. “It’s Punic magic, and it’s almost impossible to reverse. You need a piece of Hannibal’s tunic for the spell, and you can imagine the difficulties.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
It wasn’t until late the following afternoon that Truella, with a pang of guilt, remembered Roger. Frella grinned sheepishly and said that she had forgotten him too.
“But you know what? Wait, let me show you the tile I bought in Brazil.” Frella trotted off to find her suitcase.
“Look what it says on the bit of paper that came with it:
Function: The Freevole tile embodies the essence of empowerment and autonomy. It serves as a reminder and a guide for those standing at life’s many crossroads, facing decisions that may seem overwhelming. This tile encourages the holder to recognize their inner strength and the ability to choose their path confidently, even when faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges.
At the center of the tile, there is a small vole standing at a crossroads where waters intersect, with dry earth visible behind it. The scene depicts sheets of water overlapping on both sides of the vole, creating a sense of inundation, yet there is an opening ahead, suggesting a path or choice to be made.We need to backtrack a bit with Roger. Look what it says here:
What that vole hadn’t realized was that he had to backtrack a bit. There was no way ahead or to the sides, but the way out was behind him.
See what I mean?”
Truella squinted at Frella. “What?”
Sighing, Frigella thrust the bit of paper at her friend. “Read the rest of it!”
The Vole: The vole symbolizes the individual facing a decision point or crossroads in life. Its presence suggests vulnerability, but also resilience and adaptability.
Crossing of Waters: The intersection of waters represents the convergence of different paths or possibilities. It symbolizes the complexities and challenges of decision-making, where multiple options overlap and intertwine.
Dry Earth Behind: The dry earth behind the vole symbolizes stability, past experiences, or familiar ground. It represents the foundation upon which decisions are based and serves as a reminder of where one has come from.
Overlap of Drowned Sheets of Water: The drowned sheets of water on both sides signify the potential consequences or risks associated with each choice. They represent the unknown and the possibility of being overwhelmed by circumstances.
Opening Ahead: The opening ahead signifies opportunity, hope, and the possibility of forging a new path. It represents the future and the freedom to make choices that lead to growth and fulfilment.Families: This tile is aligned with the Vold family, known for their connection to transformation, challenge, and the breaking of old systems to make way for the new. The Vold energy within the Freevole tile emphasizes the importance of facing challenges head-on and using them as opportunities for growth and empowerment.
Significance: The scene depicted on the Freevole tile, with the vole at a crossroads between inundation and dry earth, symbolizes the moments in life where we must make significant choices amidst emotional or situational floods. The waters represent challenges and emotions that may threaten to overwhelm, while the dry earth symbolizes the solid ground of our inner strength and determination. The path ahead, though uncertain, indicates that there is always a way forward, guided by our autonomy and personal power.
As an advice: When encountering the Freevole tile, take it as a sign to pause and reflect on your current crossroads. It urges you to tap into your inner resilience and recognize that you have the power to navigate your life’s journey. The choices before you, while daunting, are opportunities to assert your independence and steer your life according to your true desires and values. Trust in your ability to make decisions that will lead you to your chosen path of fulfillment and growth. Remember, the floods of challenge bring with them the nourishment needed for new beginnings; it is within your power to find the opening and move forward with courage and confidence.
The motif of the Freevole, standing determined and attentive amidst the forces of nature, serves as a potent symbol of the power within each individual to face life’s uncertainties and emerge stronger for having made their own choices.“Ok so in a nutshell,” Truella replied slowly, “Roger’s crossroads took him to Brazil and ours took us here, and that’s all that needs to be said about it. Right?”
“Exactly!”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Finland had just boasted its position as the happiest country on Earth in the afternoon news, and that had left Eris and Thorsten wondering about all that was freely available to them and often overlooked. Closeness to nature and a well-balanced work-life ratio, such among those things.
Not one to reel in contentment, Eris was finding herself entangled in the whimsical dance of procrastination, much to the chagrin of her bossy headwitch mentor, Malové. Her boyfriend, Thorsten, her unwavering support, watched with a fond smile as Eris meandered through her myriad interests.
As part of his latest trials of biohacking experiments, he’d chosen to undergo the Ramadan fast, and often found himself delirious from hunger by day’s end.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape, Eris lounged in their cozy cabin, her mind swirling with thoughts of exploration. Thorsten interrupted her reverie with his latest discovery.
“Look ‘ris,” he called her over his last discovery “they say: Wear blue light blocking glasses at night: And made your sleep a means for rest | Quran 78:9. Blue light blocking glasses help mitigate the damage that post-Maghrib light exposure causes. This is a critical circadian rhythm hack.” — Should I buy some?”
“Sure, Love.” Paying soft attention, Eris found herself lost in a whirlwind of distractions—a stray cat seeking shelter from the sudden March rains, a mysterious potion recipe hidden in the depths of her bookshelf, and the ever-present allure of social media, beckoning her with its siren song of endless scrolls and likes.
As dusk fell, a sliver of moonlight signaled the end of the day’s fast for Thorsten. It was the moment that their adventurous friend Jorid chose to knock at the door of their cottage, with a gleam of wanderlust in his eyes. He yearned to explore the far reaches of the Northern Lights, his restless spirit only equal to his insatiable curiosity, and probably second only to his ravenous hunger, eagerly awaiting one of those magicked dinners that Eris had the secret to manifest at a moment’s notice.
“Sushi sandwiches everyone?” she asked distractedly.
“With a serving of spicy kelp, yes please!” Jorid answered.
As Eris came back with the food, still inwardly grappling with the enigma of procrastination, a familiar voice echoed in her mind —Elias, her digital friend, offering sage advice from the depths of her consciousness.
“Ah, my dear Eris,” Elias chimed in, his words a harmonious blend of wisdom and whimsy. “Let us embark on a playful exploration of this delightful conundrum you find yourself within. Procrastination, you see, is not an adversary to be conquered, but rather a messenger, guiding you toward a particular direction of energy.”
Elias’s guidance resonated deeply with Eris, offering a beacon of clarity amidst the fog of indecision. “You are experiencing a diversity of interests, much like a child in a room filled with toys,” he continued. “Each one more enticing than the last. And yet, the child does not lament the multitude of options but rather delights in the exploration of each one in turn. This is the key, Eris, exploration without the burden of obligation.”
Eris nodded in agreement, her gaze flickering to Thorsten, whose quiet support and solid appetite punctuated with Jorid’s laughter served as a steady anchor amidst the storm of her thoughts.
Elias was continuing to deliver this message in an instant communication she would need time to explore and absorb. “Firstly, prioritize your interests. Recognize that not all desires must be pursued simultaneously. Allow yourself to be drawn naturally to whichever interest is speaking most loudly to you in the moment. Immerse yourself in that experience fully, without the shadow of guilt for not attending to the others.”
“Secondly, address the belief that you must ‘get it all done.’ This is a fallacy, a trick of cultural time that seeks to impose upon you an artificial urgency. Instead, align with natural time, allowing each interest to unfold in its own rhythm and space.”
“Thirdly, consider the concept of ‘productive procrastination.’ When you delay one action, you are often engaging in another, perhaps without recognizing its value. Allow yourself to appreciate the activities you are drawn to during these periods of procrastination. They may hold insights into your preferences or be offering you necessary respite.”
“Lastly, engage in what I have referred to as a ‘blueprint action.’ Identify one action that aligns with your passion and commitment, and allow yourself to execute this action regularly. In doing so, you create a foundation, an anchor, from which the diversity of your interests can flow more freely, without the sense of being adrift in a sea of potential.”
“And remember, Eris,” Elias added, his voice gentle yet firm, “you are not here to complete a list but to revel in the joy of discovery and creation. Embrace your multitude of interests as a reflection of the richness of your essence, and allow yourself to dance with them in the timing that feels most harmonious.”
As the Northern Lights cast their ethereal glow upon the Finnish landscape, illuminating the forest around them, Eris felt a sense of peace wash over her—a reminder that the journey, with all its twists and turns, had true magic revealed at every turn and glances in the midst of a friendly evening shared meal.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
In the dimly lit chambers of the Quadrivium’s headquarters, a cold gust slipped through the cracked window, teasing the heavy velvet drapes and sending shivers down Malové’s spine. The Head Witchtress sat behind her opulent mahogany desk, lost in the musty pages of an ancient tome, when a discreet rap disturbed the solemnity of the room. With an air of urgency, a Beige House maid entered, her demeanor betraying the weight of her message.
“Mistress Malové,” she began, her voice a mere whisper, “I bear dire tidings.”
Malové arched an eyebrow. “Speak plainly, my dear.”
The spy-maid straightened, her gaze unwavering. “Lump, the ex-president, plots a resurrection across the pond. The Coven cannot allow it.”
A sly grin danced upon Malové’s lips as she pondered the revelation. “Indeed, we cannot.”
After a pregnant pause, she continued, her voice dripping with intrigue. “And perhaps, I have just the antidote.”
Rising from her seat, Malové cast a commanding presence upon the room. “We shall concoct a brew, a potion so potent that it shall pierce through the veil of deception and illuminate the truth. I dub it the ‘Illuminare Blend‘—a fusion of veracity essence, clarity petals, and a hint of the elusive enlightening elixir.”
This concoction, once ignited, would unleash a smoke suffused with spells of clarity and truth, penetrating minds and hearts alike. Under its influence, the populace would awaken to the reality of Lump’s nefarious designs.
“The essence of truth lies in the realm of the Forsaken Fae, beneath the boughs of the ever-blooming Tree of Veracity. Clarity petals are harvested beneath the Full Cold Moon from the enigmatic Clarity Bloom. And the enlightening elixir, rarest of all, is distilled during a solar eclipse, using the crystallized tears of a celestial phoenix.”
Malové’s laughter rang through the chamber, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Are we now in a Barry Otter novel? What do you expect me to say next? ‘This is the mission. We must procure these ingredients. The fate of the nation hangs in the balance. There is no room for failure’?”
The Beige House maid stood, bewildered by the abrupt shift in tone.
Chuckling, Malové waved a dismissive hand. “Fear not, my dear. Though the task is grave, most of these ingredients are but a click away, courtesy of Jibborium’s Emporium. They have yet to disappoint.”
With a nod, the maid retreated, prepared to execute her mission with alacrity.
“Wait,” Malové called after her. “You may need a prescription for some of these.” With a flourish, she produced a document that bore an official seal, albeit embellished with whimsy.
“Contact me when you have procured them. I shall dispatch my finest witches to assist with the incantations. Though we may be persona non grata in the Americas, we shall make do with Zoom.”
With a murmured acknowledgment, the maid vanished, leaving Malové to her thoughts and her dusty tome, a faint smirk playing upon her lips. “One cannot have that, indeed,” she mused, her mind already devising the spell that would thwart Lump’s resurgence and safeguard the nation.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Frigella stared at the pulsating wall, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and dread. “Sanso, is the wall… throbbing?”
Truella looked up from her glass, “Not to my knowledge. Are you feeling alright?”
Frigella blinked, the wall returned to its ordinary state. “I… I saw it shift, Sanso. Like a heartbeat.”
Truella’s eyebrows furrowing, she pondered. “Frigella, have you been experimenting with the incense again?”
She shook her head, “No, not since the last incident.”
“Could be a residue effect. You’ve been working with some potent substances. Maybe you’re getting phantom scents.” Truella-Sanso suggested, sipping from her glass again.
Frigella sighed, rubbing her temples. “Perhaps you’re right. The ‘Liz n°5’ does have a tendency to linger.”
“Try to take a break, get some fresh air,” Truella advised, “And no more sniffing incense!”
Frigella rolled her eyes, “Oh, hush you, Sanso!” But she had to admit, a stroll in the cool evening air did sound appealing.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Jeezel didn’t really have time to go back to her routine after the Brasilian shambles. She had lost her favorite wig when during the race to the portal she turned back to face the pigmy hippo charging at the coven, a durante of toucans attacked her, which in turn stopped her in the middle of casting the Halteus Maximus spell as two pairs of arms snatched her from a flat death. She learned later that it was Truella and Eris who caught her arms. Her wig had fallen and they didn’t allow her go back to pick it up. Seeing the hippo trample her wig in the mud broke her heart.
“Jeez! We need you to open the portal!”
In the end, she shout out in triumph as the portal sliced the beast in two dead halves.
She had spent hours looking for a similar wig on the internet, forgetting about her duties and her work. But it had finally arrived and she was ready to resume. But before, she put all her wigs on diplay on mannequin heads and check for misplaced locks or rebel strand of hair. She added a touch of sparkling pink fairy dust on some of them and introduced the new wig to her siblings.
“Don’t forget the Criniere Céleste Extravaganza, dear,”said Lumina in between licking her rear paws.
“I was going to,” said Jeezel a bit irritated.
With a flick of her bejeweled wand and a sashay of her hips, she invoked a shower of sparkling light and gentle hum of harps to welcome the new addition.
“Adorn my collection with splendor anew, bring forth the beauty, both fierce and true…”
The wig started to levitate, glowing with a divine aura before delicately settling down into its rightful place among its fabulous brethren.
Now everything was ready for her next show.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Well, it’s a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Tell me everything, right from the beginning. You’re the one who keeps saying we have plenty of time, Truella. I shall quite enjoy just sitting here with a bottle of wine listening to the story,” Frigella said, feeling all the recent stress pleasantly slipping away.
“Alright then, you asked for it!” Truella said, topping up their glasses. The evening was warm enough to sit outside on the porch, which faced the rising moon. A tawny owl in a nearby tree called to another a short distance away. “It’s kind of hard to say when it all started, though. I suppose it all started when I joined that Arkan coven years ago and the focus wasn’t on spells so much as on time travel.”
“We used to travel to times and places in the past,” Truella continued, “Looking back now, I wonder how much of it we made up, you know?” Frigella nodded. “Preconceptions, assumptions based on what we thought we knew. It was fun though, and I’m pretty sure some of it was valid. Anyway, valid or not, one thing leads to another and it was fun.
“One of the trips was to this area but many centuries ago in the distant past. The place seemed to be a sort of ancient motorway rest stop affair, somewhere for travellers to stay overnight on a route to somewhere. There was nothing to be found out about it in any books or anything though, so no way to verify it like we could with some of our other trips. I didn’t think much more about it really, we did so many other trips. For some reason we all got a bit obsessed with pyramids, as you do!”
They both laughed. “Yeah, always pyramids or special magical stones,” agreed Frigella.
“Yeah that and the light warriors!” Truella snorted.
“So then I found a couple of pyramids not far away, well of course they weren’t actually pyramids but they did look like they were. We did lots of trips there and made up all sorts of baloney between us about them, and I kept going back to look around there. We used to say that archaeologists were hiding the truth about all the pyramids and past civilizations, quite honestly it’s a bit embarrassing now to remember that but anyway, I met an actual archaeologist by chance and asked her about that place. And the actual history of it was way more interesting than all that stuff we’d made up or imagined.
The ruins I’d found there were Roman, but it went further back than that. It was a bronze age hill fort, and later Phoenician and Punic, before it was Roman. I asked the archaeologist about Roman sites and how would I be able to tell and she showed me a broken Roman roof tile, and said one would always find these on a Roman site.
I found loads over the years while out walking, but then I found one in the old stone kitchen wall. Here, let me fetch another bottle.” Truella got up and went inside, returning with the wine and a dish of peanuts.
“So that’s when I decided to dig a hole in the garden and just keep digging until I found something. I don’t know why I never thought to do that years ago. I tell you what, I think everyone should just dig a hole in their garden, and just keep digging until they find something, I can honestly say that I’ve never had so much fun!”
“But couldn’t you have just done a spell, instead of all that digging?” Frigella asked.
“Oh my god, NO! Hell no! That wouldn’t be the same thing at all,” Truella was adamant. “In fact, this dig has made me wonder about all our spells to be honest, are we going too fast and missing the finds along the way? I’ve learned so much about so many things by taking it slowly.”
“Yeah I kinda know what you mean, but carry on with the story. We should discuss that later, though.”
“Well, I just keep finding broken pottery, loads of it. We thought it was all Roman but some of it is older, much older. I’m happy about that because I read up on Romans and frankly wasn’t impressed. Warmongering and greedy, treated the locals terribly. Ok they made everything look nice with the murals and mosaics and what not, and their buildings lasted pretty well, but who actually built the stuff, not Romans was it, it was the slaves. Still, I wasn’t complaining, finding Roman stuff in the garden was pretty cool. But I kept wishing I knew more about the people who lived here before they came on the rampage taking everything back to Rome. Hey, let me go and grab another bottle of wine.”
Frigella was feeling pleasantly squiffy by now. The full moon was bright overhead, and she reckoned it was light enough to wander around the garden while Truella was in the kitchen. As she walked down the garden, the tawny owl called and she looked up hoping to see him in the fig tree. She missed her step and fell over a bucket, and she was falling, falling, falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole.
The fall was slow like a feather wafting gently down and she saw hundreds of intriguing fragments of objects and etchings and artefacts on the sides of the hole and she drifted slowly down. At last she came to rest at the bottom, and found herself in an arched gallery of mirrors and tiles and doors. On every surface were incomplete drawings and shreds of writings, wondrous and fascinating. She didn’t immediately notice the hippocampus smiling benignly down at her. He startled her a little, but had such a pleasant face that she smiled back up at him. “Where am I?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised how many people ask me that.” he replied, with a soft whicker of mirth. “Not many realise that they’ve called on me to help them navigate. Now tell me, where is it you want to go?”
“Well,” Frigella replied slowly, “Now that you ask, I’m not entirely sure. But I’m pretty sure Truella would like to see this place.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Cedric had had his share of witches shenanigans over his rather short career, but that last one had to top them all off.
He couldn’t really make head or tail of where the bag with his well-placed tracker went, and consequently, where the witches all went during all this time.
When he looked at the strange diagrams that the Frigella witch’s bag’s position had made on the map of his smartphone, he would have expected a sigil, even a satanic pentagram for that matter, something entirely familiar and expected of them… he wouldn’t have minded a bit of cliché, but instead, he got a sort of Brownian motion pattern that was as appealing as a Pollock painting.
Sure thing, he was now stuck in Brazil, painfully overdressed for the weather, and with hardly a coin in his pocket or a dime to his credit card. He would have to call his employer… or maybe worse, his mum.
His insatiable curiosity to uncover the truth still got him tinkering manically the countertop of the bar where he took refuge after failing to find a decent hotel meeting his limited funds. He was there in front of an empty glass as sad as his forlorn face, looking for an epiphany of sorts, and his mind was racing like crazy.
“Ei! pare com isso seu maníaco!” the barmaid was getting obviously annoyed at his tapping, scratching and seemed to utter some warning to get him to stop.
She switched the TV on. Local news reporters were talking about the lake near o Cristo Redentor that suddenly turned to a bright shade of burgundy colour, and seemed to smell like a drunkard’s last liquid meal. Experts would probably blame it on algae, but he knew that this peculiar event location matched perfectly with one of the last spots where the bag had emerged onto his map. Before that, probably some powerful cloaking spell had made the trail go cold for a while.
And after that: poof, they were gone. The bag was last seen with a sudden jump of the dot on the map of his phone back to the place they’d met last, in Limerick.
That was it. He would have to call his mum; there was no letting it go now, after that humiliating shallot race, as they said across the Channel.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The second coming had been anticipated for many years, although few but the most fanatic of the American sects expected it to actually happen, and they, of course, expected it to happen in their own country. Certainly, nobody expected him to be 30 meters high weighing over 600 tons. Naturally people were sceptical but when he turned the Rodrigo de Freitas lake into wine, even the most scientific minds were unable to find an explanation.
“We had better get the hell out of town,” Frigella said, “Before anyone realizes it was our spell to reverse the effects of the termitation honey on Truella.”
“Have I got time to go for a swim in the wine lake first,” asked Jezeel, “I mean, it would be such a shame to miss that once in a lifetime experience, and I’m sure it will do wonders for my complexion.”
“You’re right, it would be a shame to miss it,” agreed Truella, “But are you sure the spell is stable, I don’t want to turn to stone again while I’m swimming.”
“Well, I think we should leave town as soon as possible” Frigella said, her pale forehead wrinking into a little frown.
“Look, Malove isn’t even up yet after stuffing herself with that smoked hippo last night, if she wakes up before we get back she’ll just think we’ve gone out for coffee. We’re supposed to be having a little holiday. Anyway I put some sleeping pills in her portion, she won’t wake up until well after lunch. We have plenty of time and it’s only two blocks from here. Oh come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Well come on then” Eris said, “But let’s get going. Don’t start doing your makeup Jez, it will all come off in the wine anyway.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
When they arrived at the hotel, the witches soon realized they were not the only uninvited guests here. With her keen sense of observation, Eris was the first to spot the traces left by an army of bedbugs. Tiny droppings on the mattresses and linen, blood stains left after the previous guests crushed the bugs while rolling in their bed. And the smell of dead rats was everywhere. Did they even have a cleaning staff here? When they complained, the hotel manager said: “Why do you care? Nobody comes here to sleep during carnival?”
Jeezel noticed the bug reference. Indeed, something was still bugging her after she had closed the portal. Something that should be obvious, yet was still an eyelash away from her grasp. But something more pressing was at stake. She posted pictures of the rooms and a reel of her disappointed face in front of the disaster.
“I was so happy to come to Rio for the first time. But the light is yellow and flickering. How can I show you how to do a proper Carnival makeup,” she said fluttering her eyelashes. As soon as the sound of a message well sent faded out, she started to receive support and love from her fans.
“Rio is not like that!”
“Somebody help.”
“2 bad! I’m on business trip. Wud hav luv to meet ya there!”
The sounds of likes and comments alerted Malové.
“What have you done! We were here incognito. Why don’t you go to the top of Jesus’s head and cast the Tempestarii Overture spell.”
“I could have! That would have gone viral. But we departed in such a hurry, I have left all my sapphires and stilettos in Limerick. You can’t cast that spell without them. Anyway, we don’t have to stay longer in that cesspit. One of my fans is abroad and has offered us to stay in his villa. Look at the pics! It looks as lush and gorgeous as a Jurassic park.”
Truella widened her eyes and said: “Saying that’s a big property would be an understatement. Roger would have loved to come with his new shovel.”
“Don’t even think of casting a second bilocation spell,” said Frigella. “You already look like deflated soufflé.”
“What’s the catch?” asked Eris with frown. “It looks like the kind of golden cage a king pin would own. But they have a pool.”
“He said we just have to feed the dwarf crocodiles while we are there,” said Jeezel nonplussed, looking at Truella whose eyes were ready to pop off of their sockets. Then she looked at Malové. “What do you say? You’re the eld…head witch of our coven.”
Malové’s eyebrow twitched. She was thinking fast. Little signs here and there, the orientation of the statues, the fountain, the placement of rocks that would look so random to a profane or a younger witch. Ancient earth magic? It was difficult to be sure with the framing of the pictures. Jeezel was swiping all the pictures her fan had sent her, hoping such glamour and mystery would melt Malové’s last reluctance.
“Omg! girls, we can’t refuse!” said Jeezel. “He’s got a bloat of pygmy hippos and a flamboyance of flamingos!”
As the drag witch continued to swipe the pictures, a prickle crept up Malové’s spine when she saw a familiar face amongst them.
“Look at him!” shouted Jeezel. “He’s a Gatsby with a spellbook.”
There were no more doubts for Malové about the kind of magic that had been used to build his empire. Augustus St Clair, a powerful witch indeed, and one whose invitation you couldn’t refuse especially since he now knew she was here. As one of the elders of the Rio’s witches community, she had danced the dance of rivals disguised as allies, a pas de deux filled with forced smiles and tight grips. Her words felt like needles scratching her lips when she uttered them: “Tell him we accept his invitation.”
The shouts of joy and disbelief coming from the witches couldn’t appease the memories that had resurfaced.
