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In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The whole summer had been a blur. So much so it felt at times to Eris she’d woken up from a dream to enter another one; carefully crafted illusions as heavy as an obfuscating spell.
She could remember the fair, vaguely the Games too —each event felt like another layer of enchantment, casting a surreal pallor over everything. Indeed, the summer was a blur of fleeting images and half-remembered events, like how everyone quickly disbanded to go for a respite and a salutary holiday. Truth be told, the witches of the Quadrivium all needed it after the utter chaotic year they’d been through.
The resurgence of Malové at the fair, left unexplained, had appeared as an evidence. They all needed the tough love that only she as a head of Coven could provide, rather than the micro-management of the well-meaning but people-inapt Austreberthe. To be fair, Eris wasn’t sure Malové was still in charge or not —Eris had never as much struggled with continuity as now; she could feel they were all flipping through and sliding into potential realities opened by the incoming Samhain doorways on the horizons.
Standing on the cusp of autumn, Eris décided to prepare herself for a clarity spell under the iridescent harvest moon.
As the leaves began to turn and the air grew crisp, Eris stood poised to harness the energies of the propitious harvest moon. Preparation for a clarity spell required ascertained precision and intention waved into the elements.
Eris began by setting her space. The clearing near Lake Saimaa was her sanctum, a place where the natural energies converged seamlessly with her own. She laid out a circle of stones, each one representing a different aspect of clarity—vision, truth, focus, and discernment. In the center, she placed a mirror, a symbolic portal to the inner self and higher understanding.
Mandrake, her Norwegian Forest cat, watched with a knowing gaze, his presence grounding her as she moved through the rituals. Echo, the familiar sprite, flitted about, ensuring everything was in place.
“Mandrake, guard the perimeter,” Eris instructed. The cat slinked off into the shadows, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.
Eris took a deep breath and began to chant, her voice steady and resonant:
“By the light of the harvest moon,
I call forth clarity, swift and soon.
Let fog disperse and shadows flee,
Reveal the truth, illuminate me.”She sprinkled dried hellebores around the mirror, their protective and healing properties amplifying the spell’s potency. The hellebores, collected from Normandy, held within them the strength of her Viking ancestors and the promise of Imbolc’s rebirth. They were not just flowers; they were talismans of resilience and transformation.
As the moon reached its zenith, Eris held a vial of enchanted water. She poured it over the mirror, watching as the surface shimmered and rippled, reflecting the moonlight with an ethereal glow. The water, drawn from the depths of Lake Saimaa, was imbued with the ancient magic of the land.
Eris closed her eyes and focused on her intentions. She saw the faces of her sisters at the Quadrivium Emporium, each one struggling with their own burdens. Stalkers, postcards, camphor chests, ever prancing reindeers high on mushrooms. She saw the chaotic energies of early spring, swirling, and the potential and peril they carried. She saw Malové’s stern visage, a reminder of the standards they were meant to uphold, and a reminder to make more magical rejuvenating cream.
“Show me the path,” she whispered. “Guide me through the haze.”
The mirror began to clear, the ripples settling into a smooth, reflective surface. Images started to form—visions of the future, hints of what lay ahead. She saw herself within the coven with renewed purpose, her objectives clear and her drive rekindled. She saw her sisters working in harmony, each one contributing their unique strengths to the collective power.
The clarity spell was working, the fog lifting to reveal the roadmap she needed. Decisions that once seemed insurmountable now appeared manageable, their resolutions within grasp. The inefficiencies plaguing their organization were laid bare, offering a blueprint for the reforms necessary to streamline their efforts.
Eris opened her eyes, the vision fading yet leaving an indelible mark on her mind. She felt a surge of confidence, a sense of direction that had been sorely lacking.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the moon, to the elements, to the spirits that had guided her.
As she began to dismantle the circle, Echo fluttered down to her shoulder, a small smile on her ethereal face. Mandrake emerged from the shadows, his eyes reflecting the calm and order Eris had sought to instill.
“Well done, Eris,” Echo said softly. “The road ahead is clearer now. The harvest moon has gifted you its wisdom.”
Eris nodded, feeling ready as autumn would be a season of action, of turning vision into reality.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The chill drizzle felt cold to Truella, and she wondered not for the first time if her overheated drought stricken summer longing for cold and rain would quickly change to a desire for bone warming dry heat as soon as the weather properly changed to autumn.
“Lend me a sweater and a raincoat will you, Frella? I always forget to change before teleporting over here.”
Frella gave her a look that could only be described as nonplussed. Murmuring a short incantation, with a snap of her fingers and an indescribable gesture, the requested garments appeared on Truella’s lap, as if thrown forcefully from the other side of the room.
“Steady on, Frel!” Gratefully Truella slipped the sweater on and said, “But thanks. You know what? I forget I’m a witch, that’s the trouble. I keep forgetting I can just magic things up. Honestly, you have no idea…”
“Oh, trust me, I have an idea.”
“..the trouble I go to, doing things I could do in an instant with a spell…”
“Have you only just realised?” Frella smirked.
“Hell no, I remember all the time that I always forget. How the hell did I end up in a witches coven?”
“That fake resume you concocted when you were dazzled by the allure and the mystery, and jealous that I was in it and not you?”
“Well yes, I know, but I mean, why did Malove hire me? Why am I still here?”
“I can tell you the answer to that!” announced Eris, entering the room with a wide toothy grin.
Mouth agape, Truella leaned forward to hear what Eris had to say next, but at that moment Jeezel spun round the door frame and skidded to a halt in front of the girls, clutching her forehead dramatically.
“Who is sending all the postcards! Every morning this week I’ve had dozens of old postcards in my mailbox, there were so many stuffed in there today one was poking out! No, I can’t read who sent it, I can’t decipher any of the writing on any of them.”
“Where are they sent from? What are the pictures of?” asked Truella, her curiosity aroused.
“Pictures, who cares about the pictures, I want to know who’s sending them!”
“Steady on, Jez. The pictures might provide clues to the sender and purpose of the card,” Truella said mildly, raising an eyebrow at Jezeel’s agitated state. “What’s ruffled your feathers so much about a few postcards?”
“I received a postcard too,” Frella chimed in, causing Jeezel to gasp and clutch her heart. “I wasn’t all melodramatic about it as you though, I thought it was magical and I dunno, had a nice story to it.”
Before Truella had a chance to ask Eris to expound on the previous question, and indeed before anyone got to the bottom of Jeezel’s outburst, Malove strode in with her usual menacing demeanor. Truella braced herself for tedious profit mongering coercive diatribes to inch their way along the slimy walls of time.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The fair was in full swing, with vibrant tents and colourful stalls bursting with activity. The smell of freshly popped corn mingled with the fragrance of exotic spices and the occasional whiff of magical incense. Frella turned her attention back to setting up her own booth. Her thoughts were a swirl of anxiety and curiosity. Malové’s sudden appearance at the fair could not be a mere coincidence, especially given the recent disruptions in the coven.
Unbeknownst to Frella, Cedric Spellbind was nearby. His eyes, though hidden behind a pair of dark glasses, were fixated on Frella. He was torn between his duty to MAMA and his growing affection for her. He juggled his phone, checking missed calls and messages, while trying to keep a discreet distance. But he was drawn to her like moth to flame.
As Frella was adjusting her booth, she felt a sudden chill and turned to find herself face-to-face with Cedric. He quickly removed his glasses and their eyes met; Cedric’s heart skipped a beat.
Frella’s gaze was guarded. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, her tone icily polite.
Cedric, flustered, stammered, “I—uh—I’m just here to, um, look around. Your booth looks, uh, fascinating.”
Frella raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, enjoy the fair.” She turned back to her preparations, but not before noticing a fleeting look of hurt in Cedric’s eyes.
Cedric moved away, wrestling with his conflicting emotions. He checked to make sure his tracker was working, which tracked not just Frella’s movements but those of her companions. He was determined to protect her from any potential threat, even if it meant risking his own standing with MAMA.
As the day progressed, the fair continued to buzz with magical energy and intrigue. Frella worked her booth, engaging with curious tourists, all suitably fascinated with the protective qualities of hinges. Suddenly, Frella’s attention was drawn away from her display by a burst of laughter and squeals coming from nearby. Curiosity piqued, she made her way toward the source of the commotion.
As she approached, she saw a crowd had gathered around a small, ornate tent. The tent’s entrance was framed by shimmering curtains, and an enchanting aroma of lavender and spices wafted through the air. Through the gaps in the curtains, Frella could see an array of magical trinkets and curiosities.Just as she was about to step closer, a peculiar sight caught her eye. Emerging from the tent was a girl wearing a rather large cloak and closely followed by a black cat. The girl looked bewildered, her wide eyes taking in the bustling fairground.
Frella, intrigued and somewhat amused, approached the girl. “Hello there! I couldn’t help but notice you seem a bit lost. Are you okay?”
The girl’s expression was a mix of confusion and wonder. “Oh, hello! I’m Arona, and this is Mandrake,” she said, bending down and patting the black cat, who gave a nonchalant twitch of his tail. “We were just trying to find the library in my time, and now we’re here. This isn’t a library by any chance?”
Frella raised her eyebrows. “A library? No, this is a fair—a magical fair, to be precise.”
Arona’s eyes widened further as she looked around again. “A fair? Well, it does explain the odd contraptions and the peculiar people. Anyway, that will teach me to use one of Sanso’s old time-travelling devices.”
Truella wandered over to join the conversation, her curiosity evident. “Time-travelling device? That sounds fascinating. How did you end up here?”
Arona looked sheepish. “I was trying to retrieve a rare book from a past century, and it seems I got my coordinates mixed up. Instead of the library, I ended up at this… um … delightful fair.”
Frella chuckled. “Well, don’t worry, we can help you get back on track. Maybe we can find someone who can help with your time-travelling predicament.”
Arona smiled, relieved. “Thank you! I really didn’t mean to intrude. And Mandrake here is quite good at keeping me company, but he’s not much help with directions.”
Mandrake rolled his eyes and turned away, his disinterest in the conversation evident.
As Frella and Truella led Arona to a quieter corner of the fair, Cedric Spellbind observed the scene with growing interest. His eyes were glued to Frella, but the appearance of the time-travelling girl and her cat added a new layer of intrigue. Cedric’s mission to spy on Frella had just taken an unexpected turn.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
It was good to get a break from the merger craziness. Eris was thankful for the small mercy of a quiet week-end back at the cottage, free of the second guessing of the suspicious if not philandering undertakers, and even more of the tedious homework to cement the improbable union of the covens.
The nun-witches had been an interesting lot to interact with, but Eris’d had it up to her eyeballs of the tense and meticulous ceremonies. They had been brewing potions for hours on, trying to get a suitable mixture between the herbs the nuns where fond of, and the general ingredients of their own Quadrivium coven’s incenses. Luckily they had been saved by the godlike apparition of another of Frella’s multi-tasking possessions, this time of a willing Sandra, and she’s had harmonized in no time the most perfect blend, in a stroke of brilliance and sheer inspiration, not unlike the magical talent she’d displayed when she invented the luminous world-famous wonder that is ‘Liz n°5’.
As she breathed in the sweet air, Eris could finally enjoy the full swing of summer in the cottage, while Thorsten was happily busy experimenting with an assortment of cybernetic appendages to cut, mulch, segment and compost the overgrown brambles and nettles in the woodland at the back of the property.
Interestingly, she’d received a letter in the mail — quaintly posted from Spain in a nondescript envelop —so anachronistic it was too tempting to resist looking.
Without distrust, but still with a swish of a magical counterspell in case the envelop had traces of unwanted magic, she opened it, only to find it burst with an annoying puff of blue glitter that decided to stick in every corner of the coffee table and other places.
Eris almost cursed at the amount of micro-plastics, but her attention was immediately caught by the Latin sentence mysteriously written in a psychopath ransom note manner: “QUAERO THESAURUM INCONTINUUM”
“Whisp! Elias? A little help here, my Latin must be wrong. What accumulation of incontinence? What sort of spell is that?!”
Echo appeared first, looking every bit like the reflection of Malové. “Quaero Thesaurum Incontinuum,” you say. How quaint, how cryptic, how annoyingly enigmatic. Eris, it seems the universe has a sense of humor—sending you this little riddle while you’re neck-deep in organizational chaos.
“Oh, Echo, stop that! I won’t spend my well-earned week-end on some riddle-riddled chase…”
“You’re no fun Eris” the sprite said, reverting into a more simple form. “It translates roughly to “I seek the endless treasure.” Do you want me to help you dissect this more?”
“Why not…” Eris answered pursing up her lips.
““Seek the endless treasure.” We’re talking obviously something deeper, more profound than simple gold; maybe knowledge —something truly inexhaustible. Given your current state of affairs, with the merger and the restructuring, this message could be a nudge—an invitation to look beyond the immediate chaos and find the opportunity within.”
“Sure,” Eris said, already tired with the explanations. She was not going to spend more time to determine the who, the why, and the what. Who’d sent this? Didn’t really matter if it was an ally, a rival, or even a neutral party with vested interests? She wasn’t interested in seeking an answer to “why now?”. Endless rabbit holes, more like it.
The only conundrum she was left with was to decide whether to keep the pesky glittering offering, or just vacuum the hell of it, and decide if it could stand the test of ‘will it blend?’. She wrapped it in a sheet of clear plastic, deciding it may reveal more clues in the right time.
With that done, Eris’ mind started to wander, letting the enigmatic message linger a while longer… as reminder that while we navigate the mundane, our eyes must always be on the transcendent. To seek the endless treasure…
The thought came to her as an evidence “Death? The end of suffering…” To whom could this be an endless treasure? Eris sometimes wondered how her brain picked up such things, but she rarely doubted it. She might have caught some vibes during the various meetings. Truella mentioning Silas talking about ‘retiring nuns’, or Nemo hinting at Penelope that ‘death was all about…”
The postcard was probably a warning, and they had to stay on their guards.
But now was not the time for more drama, the icecream was waiting for her on the patio, nicely prepared by Thorsten who after a hard day of bramble mulching was all smiling despite looking like he had went through a herd of cats’ fight.
In reply to: Smoke Signals: Arcanas of the Quadrivium’s incense
Penelope Pomfrett: Let’s start with Penelope, shall we? She’s a statuesque woman with a sharp, angular face that could cut through butter – not unlike an Egon Schiele painting, if you’re familiar. Her hair’s a spun silver waterfall, always meticulously pinned up but with just a touch of wildness trying to escape, like she’s taming a tempest on top of her head. Her eyes are a piercing cerulean blue, always calculating, always observing; she’s the type who looks right through you and into your deepest secrets.
Personality-wise, Penelope’s got the demeanor of a headmistress crossed with a lioness. She’s precise, a bit of a perfectionist, never suffers fools gladly. But beneath that stern exterior, she’s got a heart of gold, especially when it comes to her coven sisters. Stern loyalty and high standards, that’s her in a nutshell. And she’s got this dry wit that’ll catch you off guard and have you chuckling before you know it.
Sandra Salt: Now Sandra, she’s a different kettle of fish altogether. Think earthy, grounded; she’s got that warm, approachable vibe that’s almost tangible. Picture her with curly auburn hair, always escaping its braids to frame her face in a halo of fiery ringlets. She’s got freckles smattered across her sun-kissed cheeks and a smile that feels like coming home after a long journey. Eyes? Warm hazel, like caramel with a hint of green, always twinkling with some hidden mischief or gentle wisdom.
Sandra’s personality is as grounded as the soil she loves to dig her fingers into; she’s the heart and soul of the crew, with an infectious laugh that could light up the darkest of days. She’s nurturing, perceptive, and has an uncanny knack for making everyone feel at ease. But don’t mistake her kindness for softness – she’s got a spine of steel and can summon a fierce storm if she’s wronged.
Audrey Ambrose: Now, dear Audrey, she’s a bit of a mysterious beauty. Think raven-black hair that falls in silky waves down her back, always perfectly styled without a hair out of place. She’s got porcelain skin, smooth and almost ethereal, like moonlight itself took her under its wing. Her eyes are a deep, striking emerald, always seeming to know more than she lets on. Add to that a penchant for elegant, vintage clothing, and you’ve got yourself a picture of classic, timeless beauty.
In terms of personality, Audrey’s a quiet storm. She’s enigmatic, often found lost in thought, with a deep, contemplative nature. While she may come off as aloof, she’s deeply empathetic and has an old-soul wisdom that guides her every action. She’s the sort you turn to when you need profound insight or a steady hand in times of chaos. And that wit – it’s as sharp as her fashion sense, subtle, and spot-on.
Sassafras Bentley: Lastly, let’s paint a picture of Sassafras. She’s vibrant and flamboyant, tall, thin and athletic, with hair dyed in shades of a peacock’s feathers – blues, greens, purples – ever changing with her whims. Her outfits are always eclectic and bold, but practical. She’s got a long hatchet face, and eyes that are a sparking topaz, full of zest and life ~ and secret undercurrents.
Sassafras is the party animal of the lot, always bringing fun and chaos in equal measure. She’s got a joie de vivre that’s downright infectious, a real firecracker with boundless energy. Her natural charisma draws people in, and her laugh – oh, her laugh! – it’s the kind of sound that warms the soul and invites everyone to join in her revelries, unless she’s being rude, aloof and secretive. Underneath all that sparkle, though, she’s fiercely protective of those she loves and more insightful than she lets on.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Believe me, I checked, double-checked, triple-checked… Love spells never last, it can’t be faked for such a long time.”
Jeezel was convinced, there was no way Malové’s escapade into love could have been foul play. Jeezel’s head was projected over in the air by the loom spell.
“I think you are still underestimating her scheming,” Eris said, feeding birds on her patio while she was interacting with the projections of her friends summoned for the occasion. “She can’t have simply abandoned all her duties without a care.”
“You have a point.” Frigella mentioned, her image animated over an old postcard background. “It’s such a break of character continuity I may say.”
Truella was flipping backgrounds behind her head, trying to find the perfect dig image to project to her friends. “Stop that!” Jeezel said gagging. “I’m going to be motion sick…”
“Back to our point…” Eris continued “I didn’t expect her succession to be appointed so fast.”
“And that Austreberthe of all persons!” Truella was starting to get on her contrarian horse. “That witch was only doing a good job at kissing donkeys, if you know what I mean. As if she’s going to be the right person for the job. Feels like we’re back into the Middle Ages of witchcraft. Not that it doesn’t have a certain appeal, trebuchets and all…” Truella was starting to get her similes in a twist and go in a usual tangent.
Frigella, always the peacemaker ventured. “Maybe we should give her a chance. And after all, better her than you, don’t you think?”
Truella stopped in her tracks, not knowing if there wasn’t some jab hiding in the last sentence. “Well, I may have had some good ideas to shake this up of course…”
Eris, staying grounded snapped “but for now, we’ll have to see what’s Austreberthe as our new boss is going to do. Last I heard she was all about getting the Quadrivium to sponsor the Worldwide Roman Games.”
Jeezel sighed. “At least she’s not going to put us to more debt… That witch’s graps on our finance is tighter than a nun’s…”
“Thanks Jeezel, we get the picture. Austreberthe was after all, Malové’s head of Finance for the most part… Hope we’re not getting too much of a cure of austerity.”
Eris said “Somehow, I still hope it’s one of Malové’s tests. Otherwise, hello Middle Ages…”
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.”
Jeezel, followed Frigella.
“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
An unexpected result (or was it an intentional one?) of the octobus ride was a profound appreciation for the arrival at the destination. Not one of the witches had been truly looking forward to the event, but when they entered the building they were deeply grateful for the smooth hard floors and walls and sharp minimalism, if that is what the sparse clean decor was called.
“This place is sorely in need of some steampunk hats,” remarked Truella. “And some Victorian clothes.”
“Beats the hell out of that gross octobus, though,” Jezeel said, who was swanning grandly around the large entrance foyer, her boots making a neat thud rather than a revolting sucking sound.
“I rather like it,” said Frella, “Steampunk hats wouldn’t fit in here at all. Are you sure that party is being held here?” For a moment, she felt a ray of hope. She was feeling that it might be possible to remain unnoticed and unbothered in the vast clean space if she sat somewhere looking serenely vacant and unapproachable.
Spotting the shiny black grand piano in the corner, Jezeel glided majestically over to it and hopped onto the back of it, striking a glamourous pose. Naturally everyone took flattering photos of her as was expected.
Eris had rushed off to find a lavatory, and eventually emerged holding a strange awkward bundle.
“What on earth is that and where did you find it?” Frella noticed the look of alarm on Eris’s face. Truella was still taking photos of Jez from various angles, much to Jezreel’s delight.
“What does it bloody look like!” Eris said in an exasperated tone, “It’s a baby, someone left it in the loo! Go and ask at the desk, find out who lost a baby. I think it’s nappy needs changing.”
Frella went off to ask, returning shortly with surprising news. “There is nobody checked in here with a baby, Eris. Nobody knows whose it is. Here, give it to me, the poor thing.”
Eris handed over the smelly bundle gratefully.
I can stay in my room with this baby, Frella thought, It will be the perfect excuse not to go to the party.
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
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
Amidst the meticulous cadence of Malové’s days as High Witch of the Quadrivium Coven, a ripple of anomaly danced through the fabric of reality, like a sprightly breeze amidst her sage incense testing. It started with subtlety—a peculiar haze veiling her potion books, an otherworldly scent mingling with her herb garden’s fragrances. But it was during her quiet contemplation among hellebore pistils that the ordinary took a whimsical turn.
The air hummed with a resonant frequency, beckoning from realms beyond. And there, in the midst of this enigmatic symphony, stood Georges, a figure oscillating between existence and non-existence, accompanied by the ethereal Malvina, a reflection of Malové’s spirit from a parallel dimension.
As Malové’s reality shimmered, the colors around her intensified, charged with the essence of a place where possibilities blurred into fantastical realities. Each breath was imbued with untapped potential, a draught of undiscovered paths.
In the midst of this mystical convergence, Malvina’s melodic voice intertwined with the air, weaving a tapestry of otherworldly allure. Energies pulsed within Malové, heralding a meeting that transcended time—a celebration set within the ever-shifting caverns of existence.
Engulfed by Malvina’s mystic melody, Malové felt the vibrations intensify, drawing her towards the allure of the unknown. With a glance at the maze of her mundane existence, she embraced the call, stepping through the veil into a world of a new sort of witchcraft, and other mystical creatures of the mind.
Amidst the unexpected spectacle, Malové found herself engaged in a dialogue with Malvina:
Malové: “Malvina, as a fellow witch of power, your reputation precedes you. Your tales of shifting caves and communion with dragons have piqued my interest. How do you maintain such fluidity within the arcane?”
Malvina: “Oh dear Malové, magic is a vast music score of constant motions, much like my cave and dragons. Adaptation and transformation are the keys to navigating its intricate weave.”
Malové: “I must admit, recent misadventures within my coven have left me seeking a fresh perspective. The fiasco with the smoke test was humbling.”
Malvina: “A fiasco, yes, but also a lesson. Magic must be respected, yet never tamed. Embrace the unexpected, and let it fuel your endeavors. What of the incense you craft?”
Malové: “It’s meant to elevate the spirit, to realign to higher purposes, and maybe inspire those enveloped in its essence. This is why we seek new blends, something transformative.”
Malvina: “Incense is not just a tool, but a companion on the journey. Let the scents guide you to uncharted territories. Look to the elements for inspiration—the earth, sky, fire, and water all have stories to tell.”
Malové: “Poetic words that is sure, and maybe wise… Perhaps a journey to your world and fabled caves could be arranged to further explore.”
Malvina: “You would be most welcome. The cave shifts but offers shelter and inspiration to all who seek it. And who knows, the dragons may impart wisdom of their own.”
Malové: “Well, to be honest, not so fond of dragons… Well, would you look at the time! The effects of that blend seems already to wear off, but thank you dearie, and we will see if some inspiration remains…”
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
The full moon was rising behind the mountains as Frigella turned off the road for the last lap of the journey down a dirt track. Daunted at first by the thought of the long drive, the prospect of a weeks holiday had lifted her spirits. There was altogether too much going on of late for a simple country hedge witch, and that carnaval mayhem had made her grumpy and withdrawn, but the drive had restored her equilibrium.
Truella rolled down the passenger window and laughed as the cool night air rushed in. “Nearly there now, I can hardly believe I made it back in one piece.”
“You and me both,” laughed Frigella. “There’s nothing I fancy more now than a couple of glasses of your lovely red wine but we’d better make a start on the spell to bring Roger back right away. This moon is perfect tonight.”
“I can’t see any reason why we can’t do both,” Truella grinned. Frigella started to object, and then stopped herself. They had arrived and she was on holiday and she deserved to sit and enjoy a drink with her friend and her responsibilities and obligations would just have to wait, at least for an hour or two.
“Why not indeed,” she said, “Why the hell not. You can tell me about finding the hippocampus statue in the dig. Great timing I must say, and the smoked hippo bones as well, just when we need to use that spell.”
“And a full moon as well. And it’s full all night long, we have plenty of time.”
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
“Witches, assemble!” It was hard for Malové to forget the theatrics, even in presence of a limited number of persons.
The three witches had come in a hurry, summoned for some of them by a loud howler in the early light. Admittedly, Malové had to compensate for the usual tardiness of some, and her impeccable spells had been calling for the trio at just the right time for each to arrive precisely to the Quadrivium’s Headquarter in less than a minute’s space one from the other.
“Unbelievable” Frigella had muttered when she saw Truella already there.
“Hoy, don’t get your knickers in a twist Love, I’ve been called to that meeting only two days ago!”
Frigella didn’t have time to retort with a snark that she’d been summoned less than fifteen minutes before, as another popping sound and a flush indicated the arrival of Eris from the Quadrivium’s Emporium backdoor in the lady’s room.
“And where is Jeezel?” Truella wondered. “I haven’t seen her yet.”
“Oh, you know, there’s no accounting for wig time preparation even with Malové superb spells skills” Eris said pragmatically.
“I wouldn’t say that.” The voice of Malové, stern but not devoid of warmth, signaled the end of the chatty banter. “She was doing some chores for me, but she’ll be back in a second.” She clapped her hands elegantly, each hand barely touching the other, yet ripples of powerful energies resounded throughout the space.
The doors flung open, revealing Jeezel in a gorgeous golden fitting ensemble, the chiffon kerchief she had before to do her chores replaced by a subtly glittering tiara standing proud on the loveliest curly wig of luscious magpie dark hair reflecting a striking metallic blue in their shine.
Jeezel, who had been secretly crying over the punishment touched her cheeks for signs of blurred cracked mascara, but instead, she could feel her cheeks were delicately powdered, her eyes contoured to perfection.
“What?…” she for once couldn’t voice her emotions.
“Silly goose,” Malové smiled in a hard to decipher rictus. “You have forgotten the evil witch and the fairy godmother are all part of the same cabal. Now,” and she turned intently to the other assembled witches.
“Are we getting punished too?” Asked Truella who couldn’t refrain to hide her rebellious nature “I won’t…”
Before she could say more, Malové raised her hand and said “Enough with this punishment nonsense. Even that foul-mouthed Finnlee with her down-to-earth mores knows that there is nothing like a little cleaning to clear up the space.”
A sigh of relief from the four friends. So if punishment wasn’t in order, what was it about?
“So where was I? It’s going to get me a whole new comment to get to where I…” She started to get flustered with exasperation from all the interruptions. The four witches were silent except for long agitated side glances at each other.
That’s when the door bell started to ring relentlessly. She thought to let it pass, probably a delivery person for the staff. But it wasn’t stopping.
“What is it?” her voice as honey-coated as the raspy tongue of a feral hellcat.
“It’s Finnlee, M’am Witch, erm, HeadTwitch. I forgot my keys, open the door if you don’t want this place to go to more waste. Mark my words. So much staff has come and gone, it’s a miracle I’m still here with …”
Malové rolled her eyes, and flipped her hands in a savant motion, opening the gates remotely for the cursing cleaning lady. She was right, one couldn’t get the staff these days. And there was nothing like a good solid floor scrubbing, no magic involved but elbow grease. Magic rarely stuck enough, and honestly, it would be such a waste of energy.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Truella had already left for that monkey hunt in the Mediterranean. Eris had to go back before nightfall, which was quite early at this time of year as she had chosen to live in such a remote place in the midst of a frozen forest. Jeezel only thought it romantic because of the icicles that would form on your eyelashes and brows, making you the perfect avatar for the Snow Queen musical. And Frigella… She said she was tired but from the sight of her aura, she undoubtedly was onto something fishy.
Jeezel looked at her dress. Once a divine creation, it has turned into a disaster. Irremediably stained with soot, it’s foul smell would make any dragon lose their appetite. She felt a mix of sadness and guilt for all the murex that gave their shells for that unique shade of purple she was so proud of.
She wasn’t sure even Teddy Steambolt could muster his magic to save the divine creation. She imagined his eyes widen as saucers when she entered his Palace of Pristine with the lifeless garment in her arms. He would most certainly swoon and gasp at the same time.
“Oh, The tragedy!” he would wail, his high-pitched lament resonating in the cathedral ceiling of his atelier of cleanliness. “What calamity hath befallen this exquisite creation?”
“Teddy, dear,” she would say, “It was indeed a tragedy. I lost seven of my nails and my hair was ruined. You’re the alchemist of cleanliness, you’re my only hope for a miracle.”
And he would take her dress and perform his magic from which it would emerge reborn, and all those murex wouldn’t have lost their home for nothing.
She was about to follow the others when Malové reminded her: “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
A broom and a bucket of black soap were floating on her right.
Her sigh would have made a blue whale blush with envy. Her role tonight would not be the Snow Queen, but Cinderella, another of her favourite diva.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
4pm EET.
Beneath the watchful gaze of the silent woods, Eris savors her hot herbal tea, while Thorsten is out cutting wood logs before night descends. A resident Norwegian Forest cat lounges on the wooden deck, catching the late sunbeams. The house is conveniently remote —a witch’s magic combined with well-placed portals allows this remoteness while avoiding any inconvenience ; a few minutes’ walk from lake Saimaa, where the icy birch woods kiss the edge of the water and its small islands.
Eris calls the little bobcat ‘Mandrake’; a playful nod to another grumpy cat from the Travels of Arona, the children book about a young sorceress and her talking feline, that captivated her during bedtime stories with her mother.
Mandrake pays little heed to her, coming and going at his own whim. Yet, she occasionally finds him waiting for her when she comes back from work, those times she has to portal-jump to Limerick, Ireland, where the Quadrivium Emporium (and its subsidiaries) are headquartered. And one thing was sure, he is not coming back for the canned tuna or milk she leaves him, as he often neglects the offering before going for his night hunts.
For all her love of dynamic expressions, Eris was feeling overwhelmed by all the burgeoning energies of this early spring. Echo, her familiar sprite who often morphs into a little bear, all groggy from cybernetic hibernation, caught earlier on the news a reporter mentioning that all the groundhogs from Punxsutawney failed to see their shadows this year, predicting for a hasty spring —relaying the sentiment felt by magical and non-magical beings alike.
Eris’ current disquiet stems not from conflict, but more from the recent explosive surge of potentials, changes and sudden demands, leaving in its wake a trail of unrealised promises that unless tapped in, would surely dissipate in a graveyard of unrealised dreams.
Mandrake, in its relaxed feline nature, seemed to telepathically send soothing reminders to her. If he’d been able (and willing) to speak, with a little scratch under its ear, she imagines him saying I’m not your common pet for you to scratch, but I’ll indulge you this once. Remember what it means to be a witch. To embrace the chaos, not fight it. To dance in the storm rather than seek shelter. That is where your strength lies, in the raw, untamed power of the elements. You need not control the maelstrom; you must become it. Now, be gone. I have a sunbeam to nap in.
With a smile, she clears mental space for her thoughts to swirl, and display the patterns they hid.
A jump in Normandy, indeed. She was there in the first mist of the early morning. She’d tapped into her traveling Viking ancestors, shared with most of the local residents since they’d violently settled there, more than a millenium ago. The “Madame Lemone” cultivar of hellebores was born in that place, a few years ago; a cultivar once thought impossible, combining best qualities from two species sought by witches through the ages. Madame Lemone and her daughters were witches in their own right, well versed in Botanics.
Why hellebores? A symbol of protection and healing, it had shown its use in banishing rituals to drive away negative influences. A tricky plant, beautiful and deadly. Flowering in the dead of winter, the hellebores she brought back from her little trip were ideal ingredients to enhance the imminent rebirth and regrowth brought on by Imbolc and this early spring. It was perfect for this new era filled with challenges. Sometimes, in order to bloom anew, you must face the rot within.
The thoughts kept spinning, segueing into the next. Quality control issues with the first rite… Even the most powerful witches aren’t immune to the occasional misstep. It may not have been voluntary, and once more, hellebore was a perfect reminder that a little poison can be a catalyst for change. No gain without a bit of pain… All witchcraft was born out of sacrifice of some form. An exchange of energy. Something given, for something in return.
Luckily, she’d learnt the third rite had gone well even in her absence. Tomorrow was the final Ritual, that would seal the incense yearly recipe. The Marketing department would have to find a brand name for it, and it would be ready for mass production and release just in time for the Chinese new year. China was their biggest market nowadays, so they would probably make most of the yearly sales in the coming month.
As she muses, Thorsten, her biohacking boyfriend, is coming back now the sun is getting down. A rugged contradiction of man and machine.
“Have you managed to contact your friends?” he asks, his pointed question tempered by a calm demeanor. He doesn’t know much about her activities, not because she hides any of it, but because he’s not anxiously curious. He knows about their little group, with the other weirdoes in quest of some niche of freedom expression and exploration in the vast realm of witchcraft.
“Yes, I did. We had a nice chat with Jeezel and she sends her regards…”
“She bloody always do that, doesn’t she.” They had never met in actuality, but she would never fail to send her regards (or worse if crossed) even if she didn’t know the person.
Eris laughed. “Well, Frigella was going to bed…”
“If I didn’t know better, one could think she does it on purpose.”
Eris continued. “Well, and get that; Tru was busy making some French fries.”
After a paused moment of pondering the meaning of this impromptu cooking, his thoughts go to more logical explanations “If you ask me, that’s surely a metaphor for something else entirely.”
“Meat and potatoes… And sometimes,… just potatoes.”
“Or in this case, possibility for a hearty gratin.”
They share a delightful laughter.
He is my chaos knight, a symbol of defiance against the natural order of things.
A quality she adores.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
So engrossed was Truella in her project at home, she had failed to notice that there had been no word for days from Eris about her new ritual. Not only did Eris not turn up for the obligatory daily meetings, she hadn’t even kept the rest of the witches informed of developments. The last anyone had heard about it was that there was a quality control issue, whatever that meant.
So there we have it, my dear, interjected Lisia. Eris’s new ritual spell is a work in progress, a symphony of the arcane and the algorithmic, and we are but eager spectators to its unfolding. One can only hope for a harmonious outcome, or at the very least, a tale worth the telling.
One can only hope, muttered Truella. We can hardly be expected to read her mind if she doesn’t keep us abreast of developments!
Eris, a sorceress of the digital age, has been blending the ancient art of incantation with the pulsing rhythms of technology….
So tell me something I didn’t know, Lisia, the question is, where is she up to now with it? Or perhaps she’s told the others, and not told me? I wonder if Frigella and Jezeel know anything?
It’s a spell of both preservation and progress, a paradoxical potion that encapsulates the dichotomy of our current condition…..
Our current position, Truella sighed, Is that we don’t know what’s going on. If only Eris would come to the next meeting and spill the beans. How can I possibly try to incorporate my own spells into it if I don’t know what the current situation is?
Maybe she’s been to Normandy collecting ingredients. I’ve heard the hellebore there are quite the best, Imp butted in, making Lisia wince. He was so on point and not nearly wordy enough.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Attention, Witches!” Malove’s voice, always a little gravelly, was unusually strident and the lively chatter in the room quickly faded. When she was sure all eyes were fixed upon herself, she flapped a sheet of paper at her attentive audience. “This … ” Malove paused and regarded the piece of paper with bemusement. “… This diatribe was on my desk this morning. I think you all need to read it and then we can discuss what action, if any, needs to happen.”
“Action!” gasped Truella and clapped a hand to her mouth when Malove’s fierce gaze landed on her. A shiver went through the assembled witches.
Another forceful wave of Malove’s arm and a shimmering screen appeared. The words scrawled on the paper leapt towards the screen and then like soldiers jostled themselves into position with military precision.
“Dearly Beloved Coven Members (and I use that term as loosely as the morals of a politician),
It’s your ever-so-humble and not-at-all-grumbling cleaner, Finnlee, here. Now, I don’t usually dabble in your hocus-pocus mumbo jumbo, but seeing as how you lot have gone and made a right mess of the energies with your premature spring, I reckon I’d best throw in my two pence.
Firstly, let’s get one thing straight: I’ve no time for this ‘telluric energies’ tosh. Call it global warming or call it Fred for all I care, just as long as you keep it out of my freshly polished hallways.
Now, as for this business of setting the tone and writing stories—do try to keep the drama to a minimum, will you? Otherwise, I’ll be the one left cleaning up the aftermath, and I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.
And Frigella, my hat’s off to you, dear. A woman of action, not just words. Reminds me of myself, only I prefer to wield a broom rather than a wand.
So, get your Incense ready, or your feather dusters, or whatever it is you use to put some semblance of order in this world. Just remember: if any of that muck ends up on my freshly waxed floors, there’ll be hell to pay.
Yours in perpetual crankiness,
Finnlee”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
After the evening ritual at the elder tree, Eris came home thirsting for the bitter taste of dark Assam tea. Thorsten had already gone to sleep, and his cybernetic arm was put negligently near the sink, ready for the morning, as it was otherwise inconvenient to wear to bed.
Tired by the long day, and even more by the day planned in the morrow, she’d planned to go to bed as well, but a late notification caught her attention. “You have a close cousin! Find more”; she had registered some time ago to get an analysis of her witch heritage, in a somewhat vain attempt to pinpoint more clearly where, if it could be told, her gift had originated. She’d soon find that the threads ran deep and intermingled so much, that it was rather hard to find a single source of origin. Only patterns emerged, to give her a hint of this.
Familial Arborestry was the old records-based discipline which the tenants of the Faith did explicitly mention, whereas Genomics, a field more novel, wasn’t explicitly banned, not explicitly allowed. Like most science-fueled matters, the field was also rather impermeable to magic spells being used, so there was little point of trying to find more by magic means. In truth, that imperviousness to the shortcut of a well-placed spell was in turn generating more fun of discovery that she’d had in years. But after a while, she seemed to have reached a plateau in her finds.
Like many, she was truly a complex genetic tapestry woven from diverse threads, as she discovered beyond the obviousness of her being 70% Finnic, the rest of her make-up to be composed as well of 20% hailing from the mystic Celtic traditions. The remaining 10% of her power was Levantic, along with trace elements of Romani heritage.
Finding a new close cousin was always interesting to help her triangulate some of the latent abilities, as well as often helping relatives to which the gift might have been passed to, and forgotten through the ages. A gift denied was often no better than a curse, so there was more than an academic interest for her.
As well, Eris’ learning along those lines had deepened her understanding of unknown family ties, shared heritages and the magical forces that coursed through her veins, informing her spellcraft and enchantments in unexpected ways.
She opened the link. Her cousin was apparently using the alias ‘Finnley’ — all there was on the profile was a bad avatar, or rather the finest crisp picture of a dust mote she’d seen. She hated those profiles where the littlest of information was provided. What the hell were those people even signing for? In truth,… she paradoxically actually loved those profiles. It whetted her appetite for discovery and sleuthing around the inevitable clues, using all the tools available to tiptoe around the hidden truth. If she had not been a witch, she may simply have been a hacker. So what this Finnley cousin was hiding from? What she looking for parents she never knew? Or maybe a lost child?
As exciting as it was, it would have to wait. She yawned vigorously at the prospect of the early rising tomorrow. Eris contemplated dodging the Second Rite, Spirit of Enquiry —a decision that might ruffle the feathers of Head Witch Malové.
Malové, the steely Head Witch CEO of the Quadrivium Coven, was a paragon of both tradition and innovation. Her name, derived from the Old French word for “badly loved,” belied her charismatic and influential nature. Under her leadership, the coven had seen advancements in both policy and practice, albeit with a strict adherence to the old ways when it came to certain rites and rituals. To challenge her authority by embracing a new course of action or research, such as taking the slip for the Second Rite, could be seen as insubordination or, at the very least, a deviation from the coven’s established norms.
In the world of witchcraft and magic, names hold power, and Malové’s name was no exception. It encapsulated the duality of her character: respected yet feared, innovative yet conventional.
Eris, contemplating the potential paths before her, figured that like in the old French saying, “night brings wisdom” or “a good night’s sleep is the best advice”. Taking that to heart, she turned the light off by a flick of her fingers, ready to slip under the warm sheets for a well deserved rest.
