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In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Despite her initial misgivings, Truella was looking forward to the weekend at the Cloisters. It had belatedly come to her attention that another group were joining them for the event, the Mortician’s Guild. She wondered if Austreberthe had bitten off more than she could chew, introducing all these new characters at the same time. But the more people, the more confusion, the better the opportunities to slip off unnoticed and investigate the grounds.
Truella was the first to arrive. Before entering the building, she paused under the shade of a towering eucalyptus tree, taking it all in, receptive to the ancient whispers calling from the surrounding forrest. A nightingale beckoned from the trees beyond one of the terraces, and Truella was irresistably drawn towards it. Crunching softly on the crisp dry leaves underfoot and squinting in the bright sunlight, a flash of movement caught her eye. Was it a bear in the woods? Surely not, not so close to habitation. Truella inched closer, curious, her muscles tense, keyed in readiness to flee. But she was overdramatising, and made a little self deprecating snort of mirth.
The tall man clad in a floor length leather coat heard a snort and paused, wondering how close the wild boar came to the old building. Surely they kept away from people, people were so dangerous. Pull yourself together, Rufus, old boy, he said to himself. Why did this place remind him of… well it was no good harking back to that…maybe he should go back inside. He threw his broad shoulders back and strode out from the cover of the trees, the hem of his coat gathering prickly seeds from the undergrowth.
Truella clapped her hands delightedly, and laughed. “Well look at you, you big bear in the woods, you must be one of the guys from the Mortician’s Guild.”
Rufus spun round, his duster coat flaring open to reveal the crimson satin lining, his face a picture of moody glowering. Truella was momentarily nonplussed. Handsome guy, but what an attitude. But maybe she should not judge too quickly, after all, he probably resented having to come here. Maybe she could soften him up over the course of the weekend.
“We may as well go in and meet the others. I’m Truella, pleased to meet you,” she said, offering a hand in greeting. To her surpise, than man took her hand and kissed it. “Rufus, at your service,” he said with a slight bow. He peered at her and added, “Have we met before? You seem strangely familiar.”
“Why yes, so do you!” He didn’t, but Truella’s hand was tingling warmly from the kiss and she decided to play along.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The Quintessivium Cloister Crafts was busying getting ready to complete this year’s midsummer fashion tour.
Mother Blaen (Lorena in private), started to clap bossily to line up all the sisters for the rehearsal.
“Yes, Sister Maria, you start, Black habit and white wimple, Roman Catholic timeless elegance, perfect. And think to wipe that smile off your face. You need to show spirit of devotion.”
She swiftly moved to her right.
“Now, Sister Ananda.”
Sassafrass was starting to argue about the naming convention that felt a bit too Actors studio for her taste, but was promptly shushed. Mother Blaen took a closer look, adjusting her half-rimmed glasses. “Oh… dear, I thought for a moment you’d gotten fat. Must be the lighting. So, in the vibrant orange of bhikkhunis, you glide gracefully… well, as much as you can. Peace and calm, that’s you. Yes, and don’t make a scene please. Be content I’m not asking you to shave this hair to get more in character with the robes.”
She pursued:
“Sister Amina!”
Penelope Pomfrett raised her hand silently, visibly displeased too at the name.
“Good, now. Mystical and poetic nature of Sufism, that’s your cue. Beautiful, beautiful. That modest and pure white chola and headscarf will be resplendent on the catwalk.”
After she went through all the attires in detail, down to the long black riassa and epanokamelavkion of the Eastern Orthodox nun garb, all were getting ready for the grand finale.
“Now, all of us, walking together to symbolize the unity and diversity of spiritual paths. One, two, one two. Sassafrass! Focus please!”
Mother Blaen clapped, visibly pleased at the full on display of their Coven’s couture arts. That would put a good show for the smoking witches. She thought “Let them bring the money, but one thing is sure, we bring the talent.”
In reply to: Smoke Signals: Arcanas of the Quadrivium’s incense
Penelope Pomfrett
From the Quintessivium Cloister Crafts brochure:
A sisterhood with a taste for all world nuns styles:
- Roman Catholic nun in a black habit and white wimple,
- Bhikkhunis nun in an orange robe,
- Sufi nun in a modest white chola and headscarf,
- Sannyasini nun in a saffron sari with a shaved head,
- Zen Buddhist nun in a simple black kesa and robe,
- Anglican nun in a black habit with a veil,
- and an Eastern Orthodox nun in a long black riassa and epanokamelavkion.
Together crafting beautiful items in our peaceful cloister setting, surrounded by colorful stained glass windows and wooden shelves filled with various materials.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
A little unwilling to proceed, and privately wishing she was back on the comfy sofa with the fat cushions, Frella took a moment to center herself. She reminded herself that being a witch was a high calling and often what we need will find us. It sounded like a lot of Malove’s baloney to be honest but she took a deep breath and muttered a few words of wisdom from Lemone, which often worked better than any spell:
“The key to unlocking mysteries is often found within, where the mind meets the heart.”
“You wait here, Herma,” said Frella holding a warning hand in the air. “I don’t know what magic this is yet but I sense something amiss from that shed.”
Frella approached the ominous shed with caution but renewed determination. The shed door creaked open without resistance and she saw the chest immediately though it was piled on top with boxes. After carefully removing the boxes and putting them to one side, she examined the chest looking for any inscriptions or hidden compartments that might give a clue to its origins. She sensed the camphor chest was from a very old witch family and therefore may contain protective spells and traps. Best to proceed with caution.
She went to the shed door and waved at Herma, shouting for her to go and get some salt. While she waited for Herma’s return, she examined the chest further. It had a lock, but no obvious key; clearly a bit of witchy ingenuity was going to be required. A simple unlocking spell might suffice, or if spells fail, perhaps Herma knows an old trick or two for picking locks!
Herma returned with the salt and Frella sprinkled it liberally on the chest, chanting a protective charm to ward off any nefarious spells. “There,“ she said with satisfaction. “Fingers crossed that ought to do it.”
The chest seemed strangely willing to reveal its secrets for the simplest of opening spells worked. Once it was opened, they sifted carefully through its contents, mostly old documents and letters, looking for anything which might hold the answer to the postcard.
“Look for anything bird-related—feathers, sketches … “ instructed Frella.
“By golly!” cried Herma triumphantly holding up a postcard. “It’s the same one!”.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
What the disgruntled witches of the Quadrivium hadn’t considered was that the witches of the Quintessivium Cloister Crafts weren’t happy about the merger either. They were not happy with their leader either, but had progressed towards a takeover considerably more than the floundering dissatisfied Quadrivium members. A gaggle of strangers about the place, and the attention of the supervisors during the process of merging, was the last thing they needed at this delicate stage. Sassafras Bentley in particular was worried, more alarmed than the others, for she had another secret investigation under way as well as the revolt.
Sassafras hadn’t been sleeping well. Not only did she have to cover her tracks from the others and the administration, she now had to ensure none of the nosy witches from the other coven chanced on her preliminary findings. It had taken so long to get to this stage, and she was at a crucial point of revelation. But not only did Sassafras have to maintain the utmost secrecy, she had to get her colleagues to help her conceal it ~ but without telling them what it was or why they had to keep it quiet.
It would help if there was someone she could trust to help her. But who? The other witches were a dizzy shallow lot, more interested in showy spells and those tawdry crafts and sales. The only reason they’d been moved to start a rebellion was because they wanted a bigger slice of the pie: too much was being creamed off by the top brass, and they wanted more attention for themselves, too. The fact of the matter was that Sassafras had only joined the coven because of the location of the headquarters. True, she had dabbled in witchcraft, cast a few spells, but in her own way. She didn’t naturally gravitate to team work with all its problems ~ not least, all the other people that one had to put up with. But it was an extremely useful way for her to fully explore the location, and gave her many opportunities to walk on her own in the woods, ostensibly gathering plants for the spells and potions.
A group from the Quadrivium were expected to come and stay over the weekend. Sassafras didn’t have much time to hatch a plan, but the urgency was clouding her brain, rendering her incapable of thinking clearly. It was an interruption. She needed ~ and wanted ~ to think about the discoveries, not worry about this unsettling development. Maybe she would just have to play it by ear when they came.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
After all the months of secret work for Malové, where Eris was being tasked to scout for profitable new ventures for the Quadrivium’s Emporium that would keep with traditions, and endless due diligence under the seal of secrecy, she’d learnt that the deal had been finally sealed by Austreberthe.
The announcement had just went out, not really making quite the splash Eris would have expected.
Press Release
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Quadrivium Emporium Announces Strategic Acquisition of Spanish based company Quintessivium Cloister Crafts
Limerick, 12th June 2024– Quadrivium Emporium, renowned for its exceptional range of artisanal incense blends and commitment to quality, is pleased to announce the successful acquisition of Quintessivium Cloister Crafts. This strategic move marks a significant milestone in Quadrivium Emporium’s ongoing expansion and diversification efforts.About Quintessivium Cloister Crafts
Quintessivium Cloister Crafts has been a trusted name in the production of high-quality nun’s couture. Known for their craftsmanship and dedication to preserving traditional techniques, started as a small business focussed on quills and writing accessories as well as cardigans, Quintessivium Cloister Crafts has maintained a reputation for excellence and innovation in the market.
Strategic Vision and Synergies
The integration of Quintessivium Cloister Crafts into the Quadrivium family aligns with our vision to expand our product portfolio while maintaining the high standards of quality and craftsmanship our customers have come to expect. This acquisition will allow Quadrivium Emporium to diversify its offerings and tap into new markets and customer segments.
“We are thrilled to welcome Quintessivium Cloister Crafts to the Quadrivium Emporium family,” said Austreberthe Baltherbridge, interim CEO of Quadrivium Emporium. “Their commitment to quality and tradition mirrors our own values, and we are excited about the opportunities this acquisition presents. Together, we will continue to innovate and deliver exceptional products to our customers.”
Future Endeavours
Quadrivium Emporium plans to leverage the expertise and resources of Quintessivium Cloister Crafts to develop new and unique product lines. Customers can look forward to an expanded range of high-quality writing instruments, apparel and accessories, crafted with the same attention to detail and dedication that both brands are known for.
For more information, please contact: media@quadrivium.emporium
The internal memo that they’d received on the internal email list bore some of the distinct style of Malové, even if sent from Austreberthe’s email and adjusted with the painstaking attention to minute details she was known for.
Internal Memo
To: Quadrivium Leadership Team
Subject: Synergies and Strategic Integration with Quintessivium Cloister Crafts (previously codenamed as ‘Cardivium Nun’s Quills & Cardigans’)Team,
With the acquisition of Quintessivium Cloister Crafts finalised, we are poised to explore the deeper synergies between our coven and the nun witches’ coven operating behind their front. Here are some key areas where we can harness our collective strengths:
1. Resource Sharing:
– Their expertise in crafting high-quality quills can complement our focus on artisanal incense blends. By sharing resources and best practices, both covens can enhance their craftsmanship and innovation.2. Collaborative Spellcraft:
– The nun witches bring a unique perspective and set of rituals that can enrich our own magical practices. Joint spellcasting sessions and workshops can lead to the development of powerful new enchantments and products.3. Knowledge Exchange:
– The historical and esoteric knowledge held by the nuns is a treasure trove we can tap into. Regular exchanges of scrolls, texts, and insights can deepen our understanding of ancient magic and its applications in modern contexts.4. Market Expansion:
– By combining our product lines, we can create bundled offerings that appeal to a broader audience. Imagine a premium writing set that includes a handcrafted quill, a magical ink blend, and a specially composed incense for enhancing focus and creativity. Or outdoor outfits with puffer jackets, or specially knit cardigans with embedded magical properties.5. Strengthening Alliances:
– This acquisition sets a precedent for future alliances with other covens and magical entities. It demonstrates our commitment to growth and collaboration, reinforcing our position as a leading force in the magical community.Remember, the true value of this acquisition lies not just in the products we can create together, but in the unity and strength we gain as a collective. Let’s approach this integration with the spirit of collaboration and mutual respect.
Yours in strength and magic,
Austreberthe, on behalf of MalovéIn reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
At least the weather was nice in Brussels. The trip to the International Witch Bank of Grungebotts, in the quarters of Ravenstein was luckily a day trip this time, rather these week-long offsite workshops they’d been submitted to in the previous months.
It had not taken long to Austreberthe to send some of the Quadrivium witches to do her errands.
Eris was summoned in the wee hours of the day, in order to do a check-in with the bankers. The state of finances of the Quadrivium had been under scrutiny already at the time of Malové, but probably even more now during this power vacuum period.
Austreberthe had insisted Eris could be there to join with a few of the Witches of Compliance who would handle most of the discussion, while she would present the business side of their last ventures. Apparently Malové had only hinted at the secret missions she’d given some of the witches, without sharing any detail to her head of Finance.
Malové was apparently very used to these exchanges with the bankers, having struggled for a while to keep the Incense venture afloat. The presentation had been very expertly put together, and Eris for her part was mostly here to embody the seriousness and practicality of the business; in truth the bankers themselves, some greying end-of-career wizards, were obviously just here to do their job, and not eager to find fault that would require a more heavy-handed audit approach.
Within two hours of confident presentation, soft discussions on the state of international witches and wizard affairs, the political state in the union, and the incoming Worldwide Roman Games, with the help of a few madeleines dipped in black coffee, it was quickly done.
“How did it go?” Austreberthe anxious message was already flashing imperiously on her device as she boarded the return magical train. Eris distractly showed her ticket to the lady controller with the red lavallière and the strangest red octopus brooch, while struggling to answer.
She was too tired to overthink it. She tapped in quick taps the answer “All good for now. We should be in the clear until the next one.” and reclined back to get some needed rest.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
There was an odd sight today.
Eris sat in the deserted courtyard area of the brand new Quadrivium office, Malové’s latest folly. She could savor the quiet that Fridays often brought, most of her colleagues from the coven preferring to work from home, leaving the usually bustling space tranquil and almost meditative. She took a bite of her sandwich, listening distractedly to the complaints of another witch sitting nearby, while her own mind still preoccupied with the myriad responsibilities and recent events that seemed to pile around like a stack of clothes due a trip to the laundry.
As she chewed thoughtfully, her eyes were drawn to an odd sight. A blackbird was performing a strange dance in front of the mirrored walls that lined one side of the patio. It hopped back and forth, its beak tapping on the surface, its feathers shimmering in the afternoon light, as if it were courting its own reflection or perhaps trying to feed it with a worm it had in its beak. Eris paused, intrigued by this peculiar behavior. What could it mean?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a series of sharp, melodic chirps. She looked around and spotted another bird perched nearby in the foliage of hanged planters lining the walls —a female blackbird, easily identifiable by her distinct brown coat. The female watched the male’s antics with a mix of curiosity and detachment, her chirps seeming to carry a message of their own.
Eris felt a shiver run down her spine, a familiar sensation that often preceded a moment of magical insight. The blackbird’s dance wasn’t just an oddity; it was a sign, a message from the universe, or perhaps from the magical currents that flowed unseen through the world.
She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to connect with the energy around her. The image of the male blackbird, tirelessly courting its own reflection, seemed to mirror her own recent struggles. Had she been chasing an illusion, trying to nourish something that could not be sustained?
The female blackbird’s presence added another layer to the message. She was grounded, present, and observant—a contrast to the male’s futile efforts. Eris thought of her recent decisions, the dismissal of the cook, the strained relationships within the coven, and the cryptic postcards from Truella. Was the universe urging her to find balance, to ground herself and observe more keenly before taking action?
She could almost hear Elias whispers in her ears: Birds, in general, often represent thoughts or ideas flying about in our consciousness. The blackbird specifically, with its stark contrast and distinct presence, can represent deeper insights, truths, or messages that are coming to your awareness. The mirror, as a reflective surface, implies that these insights pertain directly to your perception of self or facets of your identity that may be emerging or needing attention. Putting this together, the imagery of the birds and their interactions could be nudging you to pay closer attention to your inner reflections. Are you nurturing the parts of yourself that truly need attention? Are there aspects of your identity or self-perception that require acknowledgment and care? The presence of the brown-coated female blackbird might also be a reminder to appreciate the varied and multifaceted nature of your experiences and the different roles you embody.
She opened her eyes, feeling a sense of clarity washing over her. The birds continued their vivid dialogue and unfathomable dances, unaware of the impact they had just made, although her insistent gaze had seemed to snap the blackbird out of its mesmerized pattern. He was now scurrying away looking over its shoulder, as if caught in an awkward moment.
Rising from her seat, Eris felt something. Not some sort of newfound sense of purpose, but a weight of a precious present, luminous and fragile, yet spacious and full with undecipherable meaning. She glanced one last time at the blackbirds, silently thanking them for their unspoken wisdom. As she walked back into the office, she knew that the path ahead would still be fraught with challenges, but she was ready to face them—grounded, observant, and attuned to the subtle messages that the world had to offer.
In the quiet of the Quadrivium office, on a deserted Friday afternoon, a blackbird’s dance had set the stage for the next chapter of her journey.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Madeira! Good grief,” murmured Frella when she read Truella’s message. Of course Madeira! Not some godforsaken Airbnb on a gloomy coast that smelt of rotting fish and doom … and just because Malove recommended it! She felt the familiar wave of anxiety which thoughts of Malove tended to evoke in her and took a couple of deep steadying breaths. Why Malove had recommended this place was beyond her comprehension but there had surely been strange undercurrents in the coven of late.
Frella was still wondering how to respond to Truella’s message; it was galling to have to admit she was right, when there was a sharp knock on the door. In no mood for visitors of any description, Frella considered ignoring it. Next moment there was a sound of the key rattling in the lock.
“Look at that! You are here!” cried Herma as she burst into the room. Her voice held a hint of reproach and Frella stuttered awkwardly that she’d been about to answer.
“Oh tut tut don’t you worry!” She plonked down next to Frella on the sofa causing it to creak under her not inconsiderable weight. “Ah, that’s better, haven’t I been racing around all morning.” She smiled at Frella. “Lordy, but I know what you witches are like; I’ve had enough of you lot stay here through the years. I’m surprised you didn’t cast one of them invisibility spells you’re all so good at!” She laughed heartily and Frella forced herself to chuckle in response. Then they lapsed into silence.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?” asked Frella eventually, much as she was loath to encourage Herma who appeared to be fixated on the mat. Frella couldn’t see anything amiss although the mat was arguably a little garish with its multi-coloured checkerboard pattern.
“It’s not tea I’m after,” said Herma. “It’s your help I need.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Once upon a time, there was a shiftless lazy tart called Frella who couldn’t be bothered to write her own diary, so she asked me, Truella, to do it for her. She was going away on holiday, which she agreed would be a nice rest, but the preliminary preparations such as packing a suitcase were daunting. It’s a funny thing how witches, accustomed to concocting spells to save the world, rarely remembered to make a spell for themselves to accomplish the more mundane aspects of life, preferring to wallow in the slimy bog of exhaustion while the chores piled up into insurmoutable promontories of little historic acclaim. Weighed down with the rucksack of needy plants wanting water, decomposing salad and rotten tomatoes requiring assistance to the recycling arrangement, nearly empty (but not quite) bottles of assorted daily hygiene products to keep hair, skin and unmentionable areas sweetly scented, best bra and knickers requiring laundering, matching socks and assorted garments to cover all possible weather conditions, a selection of energy boosting vitamins and minerals, a magic stone or two just in case, and remedies for possible holiday ailments, Frella wasted her precious time looking at old drawings and talking about books instead of attending to the things that must be done.
Frella did agree to send hand drawn postcards every day while she was away, while she was relaxing and swanning around at one of the homes in her extensive property portfolio, so all was not lost. That she may be doing this in mismatched socks, climate inappropriate clothing, less than sweetly scented unmentionable areas, and lacking essential energy boosting vitamin intake, was of no concern to the potential recipient.
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
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
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
“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
It may surprise you, dear reader, to hear the story of Truella and Frella’s childhood at a Derbyshire mill in the early 1800s. But! I hear you say, how can this be? Read on, dear reader, read on, and all will be revealed.
Tilly, daughter of Everard Mucklewaite, miller of Brightwater Mill, was the youngest of 17 children. Her older siblings had already married and left home when she was growing up, and her parents were elderly. She was somewhat spoiled and allowed a free rein, which was unusual for the times, as her parents had long since satisfied the requirements for healthy sons to take over the mill, and well married daughters. She was a lively inquisitive child with a great love of the outdoors and spent her childhood days wandering around the woods and the fields and playing on the banks of the river. She had a great many imaginary friends and could hear the trees whisper to her, in particular the old weeping willow by the mill pond which she would sit under for hours, deep in conversation with the tree.
Tilly didn’t have any friends of her own age, but as she had never known human child friends, she didn’t feel the loss of it. Her older sisters used to talk among themselves though, saying she needed to play with other children or she’d never grow up and get out of her peculiar ways. Between themselves (for the parents were unconcerned) they sent a letter to an aunt who’d married an Irishman and moved with him to Limerick, asked them to send over a small girl child if they had one spare. As everyone knew, there were always spare girls that parents were happy to get rid of, if at all possible, and by return post came the letter announcing the soon arrival of Flora, who was a similar age to Tilly.
It was a long strange journey for little Flora, and she arrived at her new home shy and bewildered. The kitchen maid, Lucy, did her best to make her feel comfortable. Tilly ignored her at first, and Everard and his wife Constance were as usual preoccupied with their own age related ailments and increasing senility.
One bright spring day, Lucy noticed Flora gazing wistfully towards the millpond, where Tilly was sitting on the grass underneath the willow tree.
“Go on, child, go and sit with Tilly, she don’t bite, just go and sit awhile by her,” Lucy said, giving Flora a gentle push. “Here, take this,” she added, handing her two pieces of plum cake wrapped in a blue cloth.
Flora did as she was bid, and slowly approached the shade of the old willow. As soon as she reached the dangling branches, the tree whispered a welcome to her. She smiled, and Tilly smiled too, pleased and surprised that the willow has spoken to the shy new girl.
“Can you hear willow too?” Tilly asked, looking greatly pleased. She patted the grass beside her and invited Flora to sit. Gratefully, and with a welcome sigh, Flora joined her.
Tilly and Flora became inseperable friends over the next months and years, and it was a joy for Tilly to introduce Flora to all the other trees and creatures in their surroundings. They were like two peas in a pod.
Over the years, the willow tree shared it’s secrets with them both.
One summer day, at the suggestion of the willow tree, Tilly and Flora secretly dug a hole, hidden from prying eyes by the long curtain of hanging branches. They found, among other objects which they kept carefully in an old trunk in the attic, an old book, a grimoire, although they didn’t know it was called a grimoire at the time. In fact, they were unable to read it, as girls were seldom taught to read in those days. They secreted the old tome in the trunk in the attic with the other things they’d found.
Eventually the day came when Tilly and Flora were found husbands and had to leave the mill for their new lives. The trunk with its mysterious contents remained in the dusty attic, and was not seen again until almost 200 years later, when Truella’s parents bought the old mill to renovate it into holiday apartments. Truella took the trunk for safekeeping.
When she eventually opened it to explore what it contained, it all came flooding back to her, her past life as Tilly the millers daughter, and her friend Flora ~ Flora she knew was Frigella. No wonder Frella had seemed so familiar!
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
Jeezel was enjoying a glass of champagne, enveloped by mother of pearl foam in a bathtub that was more like a swimming pool for a siren. Her emerald eyes were looking pensively at the reflections on the golden tiles. She was humming along a playlist carefully selected to help her relax and assimilate all the changes in her life.
Despite the fiasco in Brasil, Malove has been keeping them busy with more projects to come. Jeezel had to come up with new workshops for new recruits with the secret purpose of making witchcraft more accepted by the masses. Then, there were those secret missions for which Frigella and herself also had to procure rare and hard to find ingredients. Of course, all that, she could easily handle. Hadn’t she always managed to get back up on her feet every time she trampled on her train during her first beauty contest.
But now, there was Joe. Jeezel took a sip of champagne.
When she found her cottage, the bathroom was in a state not even a mother could love. Numerous cracks running wild like the worst kind of pantyhose mishap, and humidity creeping in like an unwelcome suitor at a drag ball.
When she put up a picture on Flick Flock, it was like blowing the mythic Cornucopia. Her fans came through like the chorus of a drag space opera. Offers poured in, tips, tricks and contacts. But one offer stood out, a brother of a fan near Limerick with hands skilled in construction.
If Jeezel’s got a heart as big as her hair, she didn’t let just anyone past the sequin curtains. Despite her hesitation to let a stranger wander through her abode, even one vouched for by a fan, she also knew when to delegate. With a few clicks of her carefully crafted nails on her phone screen and an appointment was decided. And Joe entered into her life.
He was more an Anthony Tomkin than her usual Brad Pitt or Chris Hemsworth type. But still she was intrigued. As usual, Lumina warned her not to let her artichoke heart be ruffled again. But, thought Jeezel, she was not a child anymore, she was a powerful witch. She gulped the last trace of champagne and rose, emerging from the foam like a newborn Venus.
What could the man possibly do to her that she couldn’t transmute into gold?
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
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
From the moment they had stepped into the gorgeous villa, Malové had felt it was a trap.
It all went very fast and messily after that.
The memories were a bit blurred after all the manic rush of events.
One thing was sure: her little plan of a new smoke fragrance had to be the biggest fiasco since she took the reins of the Coven’s Quadrivium ventures.
Well, there wouldn’t be a huge point to go through the minute details of events that went down after that, would it.
Suffice to say that someone had snitched about their incognito presence directly in the ears of the Elder, and they would have been toast were it not for her quick wits.
A few curious souls would love to know how they ultimately escaped the clutches of the Brazilian witches. But that story would be one for later.
Carnival was over, and she for one, had never been big on feathers and glitter.
Lent and its Quadragesima austerities was more her style.In the end, they’d only be gone for less than a week and like that, they’d already come back to the Quadrivium.
It was luck really that Jeezel had been so good at producing the cascading portal just in time, and they could all slip through it, in spite of the sudden explosion of fireworks and the mad run ensuing. One of the pygmy hippos that was sent to chase after them had paid the price of Jeezel’s quick thinking this time, as she’d severed the portal at just the moment for the hippo to be bisected in a rather gruesome fashion.
Well, she’d never tasted smoked hippo, but she’d heard from her Tanzanian witch friend that one could find decent recipes, and it would do wonders with a garnish of orange marmalade.
And on top of that, she’d recently acquired a wardrobe sized smoking room that would do perfectly well for a trial run.She had to hand it to Frigella that she also did well with the hedgehog enlargement and armoring spells – the spikes throwing had really made a splash. Malové didn’t know she was so good at battle magic she even didn’t have to use her dragonage master spell.
The only issue was for Truella. Termitated by honey that was served by their cunning hosts, her duplicate self had been turned to stone instantaneously. That’s how Malové had known they were not meant to escape. Luckily for Truella, this was just her duplicate from the bilocation spell. On Malové’s orders, Eris had turned this second body into a miniature statue so that Eris could carry her away to safety during their mad escape.
Now, they would have to merge this stoned Truella back with her original self, so that Truella wouldn’t suffer from any tinkering effects afterwards.
