I hear them still.

St. Aime, she/her, 24, Necromancer

[staimes-blog]

gisladottirs‌:

     location: the Mansion, second floor, east wing, outside of a lecture hall      time: mid-afternoon, 19 October           ( open )

She’d thought that the temporary ban on chaos magic would render the school a more peaceful place, more conducive to her work, and– it had, as long as she stayed away from the kinds of places where witches were causing trouble around campus, which had been easy enough. But even without that particular distraction making a difference, she’d still found herself too distracted to properly focus on her work. 

She’d been using one of the classrooms to test out a pattern she’d been trying to devise for the better part of the past few weeks – one she’d been close to perfecting, before the chaos ban – but it felt like she was only getting farther away, every component she added taking her one step farther from the right order, the right alignment. Normally, she was the kind to channel her frustration into working harder – late nights, obsessive notes, a specific kind of intellectual fervor that at least made her feel productive. But today, each failed attempt made her throat tight, her eyes sting, and eventually she’d come so close to tears that she’d stormed away from her work, up the stairs, and out the door into the hallway.

The door to the room slammed behind her, as she exited, louder than she would have liked, loud enough to draw attention, and so she wiped her face on the sleeve of her sweater, trying to hide it, hoping that no one in the hallway had seen.

How exactly did one ban chaos? Really, St. Aime would like to know. Short of stamping it out, forbidding the students from stepping foot onto the grounds again and burning down their cottage, she couldn’t understand how this discipline could ever be contained. St. Aime had done her best to quiet some of the dissent. It was hard not to feel some sense of ownership after all: she practiced one of the more...controversial forms of chaos magic and was in her sixth year. Something had to be done.

St. Aime wasn’t good at rallying people together, inspiring them or anything like that. What she could do was soothe the tensions, ask people to wait before resorting to something desperate. Reason with them, comfort their worst fears. But it wasn’t long before people saw that instead of advocating for a clever move, she was just stalling. Camp Chaos on the whole didn’t want peace. They wanted revenge.

So when she crossed paths with one distraught Imogen Gisladottir, her heartbeat quickened. Surely no one would be so foolish to hurt another student on purpose.

“Imogen,” her voice rang out, casual despite her concern. “I hope it’s been....quiet. Where you have been working.”

[staimes-blog]

beatricelarson‌:

location: Knapp Social Hall time: late-afternoon, October 20th (open)

Beatrice might not have been the most socially observant witch on campus, as the result of spending most of her adolescence with only her coven for company. But it was something that she was working on improving, and in fact had improved in the years that she had been studying at Aradia. But even without all that growth, if the Beatrice of that first day suddenly traded places with the Beatrice of today. Even that Beatrice would be able to sense the sudden shift in the atmosphere on campus. 

If anything, in the days that had passed since the eventful meeting, the mood on campus had worsened. There was a tension in the air and Beatrice did not like it. She had no choice but to go on with her normal daily routine, but she found herself spending more time than normal in the Greenhouse. 

This afternoon left Beatrice craving some more social contact, however, so she grabbed a book she had been meaning to read for a while and made herself at home in the social hall, hoping a familiar face would come through and she could strike up a conversation. So far everyone that had come through the door had only spent a brief amount of time inside before leaving once again, and almost all of them had ignored her. So this time when she heard someone come in, she decided to speak up.

“I don’t bite and I’m not sick, I promise.”

“Why don’t we take a break, have a snack,” St. Aime’s voice was sweet but her hands swift as she plucked the parcel from the second year’s hands. Some sort of doll, Victorian era probably, mass produced during America’s grotesque gilded age. Undoubtedly cursed, with something strong too. She could feel the energy rolling off of it in waves. 

“Who knows, this ban on our magic is probably only temporary. But such strong curses are hardly unbreakable. We’d feel bad if we cursed our classmates only to find out it was no big deal,” she said, and steered the student towards Knapp. “I’ll hold onto this for you in the meantime.” 

The leaders of the school had to have known the fallout from the chaos ban would be terrible, and she felt like she was hardly making any grounds with damage control. Distantly, she heard a shout behind her and a flash of red light. Ah, well. One step forward, two steps back. 

At Beatrice’s voice she looked up before patting the student’s arm. “Go get some food. I think today they’re serving jerk chicken,” she said brightly, and sent the student on their way. 

“....Is there something I should be worried about?” she teased. “Don’t tell me someone has unleashed Zonbis on this school as well.” 

[staimes-blog]

Location: A secluded path, nearest to the pattern cottage Time: Late afternoon, Oct. 20th

It didn’t take a witch to see it: a storm was coming. The past few days have brought turmoil to the Institute, a domino effect that had only just begun. Surprisingly, and entire discipline had been banned. Unsurprisingly, many of her fellow chaos students had begun to revolt. Surely, the powers that be knew it would come, and had their plans to get the students back in line. St. Aime didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know it, it was clear as cards, as tea leaves in a drained cup, as a face in a mirror. The writing was, as they say, on the wall. 

In her haze of confusion she found herself in a part of the grounds where the air was clear, much clearer than her own hex filled cottage. She stood barefoot before a pattern scratched in the dirt, opened a bottle of spiced rum, scattered sacred herbs before her. 

Footsteps made her pause. “Mon chou,” she said, assuming someone from camp chaos had found her. “You should leave. If I am caught, we’ll both be in trouble.” 

[eurydse-blog]

star signs & witches; scorpio [insp]

eyes and nails are dark and caked in black, frequents at graveyards and learns from the ghosts and crows. solitary witches who makes friends with bones, and will help you learn what you want to know for a price. is afraid to sleep, quiet and haunted, is reborn each new moon. is full of knowing and fog and promise, takes a lock of hair from all they help, you feel them in your core.