The Dark Witch

"I'll bide my time, I'll wait my turn." Cynwrig Brenin // Ageless // Dark Witch of the Sanctuary

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

Maisie pouted and crossed her arms, pulling the stolen shaw closer to her body. “Don’t think the other Witches fancy me, much. You’re ‘bout the only one’s who stood still in front of me long enough to have a decent conversation.”

“I think, though, if ya really wanted to harm me, if ya really were as cruel as you say you are, you would’ve done something to me already. Ugula? ..No! Ursula! Ursula threw a bloody rock at me and scolded me beyond compare. You? Basically saved me from being skinned, practically.”

She wrinkled her nose at the memory. The edge of The End was practically the only place she felt… Wild and free in her feline form. And yet that still upset some and caused a bruise that still rested on her side today from two weeks ago.

“Of course curiosity always kills the cat..” She smirked at her own pun. “But satisfaction brought it back.” Maisie continued under her breath. 

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

The girl’s dim-witted observation unsettled Cynwrig. It was true. Not only had he saved this girl, but he’d also wasted far more time on her than was necessary. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like him to be this...sociable. Again he cast a scowl in the direction of that cursed owl. Until he could get a better hold of himself, he would blame his odd behavior on it.

“Well you have not died yet, and I think you should like to keep it that way.” An abrupt turn had him facing away from Maisie, poising himself to leave once more. “I cannot promise that will continue to be true if you follow after me.”

[xavierxpiest-deactivated2016071]

Vicious Circles || Cynwrig & Xavier

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

The vial was wrenched from the miserable boy’s hands, Cynwrig opening his palm as it once more dropped into his hand. He didn’t care about the trauma the boy suffered. He didn’t care how much courage it had taken him just to reach this point. All that Cynwrig could see was his anger, and how he had been slighted by such a weak, pathetic creature. If it were his bloody sister would this whelp feel more at ease? If it were she who brewed this spell would he not have taken it readily?

It was this that drove the witch into a blind rage; bottles launched themselves into walls, candles were snuffed out with a sudden and strong gust of wind. It was not often that Cynwrig was driven to such anger, and it was a terrifying and dangerous thing to behold. Like a brewing storm, it was safest for those nearby to take shelter.

But Xavier was too scared to run.

“Leave. Now,” the witch growled, a thick accent punctuating his words. There would be no mercy for the boy if he did not follow Cynwrig’s instructions to the letter.

Hopefully he was not fool enough to attempt bravery now.

[xavierxpiest-deactivated2016071]

In those words, there lacked no clarity. Xavier nodded, vigorously, to prove his understanding. Heart unable to fathom another second, and hands now freed of the single thing that had kept, he could leave. Should he have been thanking the Gods for his survival, oh but not here. Not in this place, with the raging witch before him. Xavier wasn’t sure he could possibly be more afraid. 

In the near future, he would look at this moment and wonder hos shaky legs had carried him out of the Sanctuary. In the moment, they simply did, and after a short bow of his head, he rushed back into the white cold, perhaps more damaged, more damned, than before.

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

Maisie could slowly feel his energy really turning into annoyance, and her heart dropped. She couldn’t entertain even the rats of palace, let alone one of the most interesting witches of Nore, she soon found out. It was damn if she did and damn if she didn’t when it came to people. If she was rude, she was scolded. If she was sweet, people still looked down on her. 

Playing it off, Maisie grinned,”Well ya look like one, for sure. But as mean as your friend there? Hardly. Though I don’t underestimate your ability to hurt someone even more severely, I think you’d actually have a reason to hurt me unlike the owl. Which I hope i haven’t given ya one.” 

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

Cynwrig was a difficult man to impress. This was in large part a result of his age. How many girls like this one had he met in his thousands of years? Too many, if you asked his opinion. People held little fascination for Cynwrig, not unless there was truly something special about them. Be it their magic or a curiosity of the personality, it was uniqueness that grabbed the witch’s attention. And from what he’d gathered of their brief acquaintance, there was nothing unique or interesting about this girl at all.

He didn’t think he bore any resemblance to the owl which now hovered at his side, and he didn’t bother to hide his snort of derision at the girl’s observation. “You are right about my ability to cause harm, but you are sorely mistaken when it comes to my cruelty. I am not a kindly man, child. If it is gentleness and kinship which you seek, you would be better off communing with the Spider Witch in her pathetic little hovel.”

Even the taste of his sister’s moniker was foul upon his tongue. Save for his mother, he was no one he detested in this world more. So why shouldn’t he send this incorrigible little brat to her doorstep? It would be far better than having her linger in his presence.

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

Maisie’s giggling quickly ceased when his lightened mood turned right back to darkness. But she couldn’t hold onto her seriousness for long, around him. 

Was nice not a good compliment? If someone called her nice, she would be beaming with red cheeks and a shy smile, before thanking them over and over again. “Elders?” Maisie nearly had a giggle fit.”Elders are filled with a bunch of bologna, ya’know? Though they are quite story tellers..” She cocked her head to the side a little, getting lost in her own thought for a few seconds before snapping back to attention and grinning cheekily.

“But guess I’m a fool then!” Maisie clapped her hands together. “One thing they got right, though, is you’re such a grump. Like a big ole grumpy owl..” Her eyes turned towards the owl who instantly gave her chills. 

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

It pleased him when she seemed to realize her error. But of course, her fear was short-lived. The girl was at least smart enough to admit her own stupidity, but that didn’t make her presence any more enjoyable. Already, the witch had tired of her presence. Perhaps he should have let the owl claw at her some more. Perhaps then she wouldn’t be so quick to giggle in his presence.

He looked over to the aforementioned creature then, pleading silently for the bird to finish what it had started. But it simply sat in silence, ruffling its feathers and staring at Cynwrig imploringly. It seemed that the witch had no manner of luck today.

Turning his gaze dully upon the girl, he finally said, “You think of me as an owl, do you? Considering what that owl just did to you, do you think it wise to try my patience?”

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

Your maids would do well not to utter my name.. Maisie mocked him inside her, mentally rolling her eyes and giggling. 

Maisie smiled, her eyes shrinking with laughter wrinkles. “What don’t they speak of you.” Maisie was gleaming with stories that she’d been told. “Ya look like just what they describe to me.” She smirked. 

“Your hair’s lot whiter in person. But your stature? A lot more intimidating than I believed.” Maisie giggled. She couldn’t help to believe he was quite more attractive in person than in the stories. “But you look a lot nicer in person. Old man in a younger man’s body.”

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

Cynwrig didn’t like to meet expectations, he liked to exceed them. That his very image did not have this girl quaking with fear frustrated him far more than he could express aloud.

“You think I look nice?” he repeated, the smirk on his face turning bitter. “The stories I have heard would suggest quite the opposite. Only fools do not heed caution when it is given. But then, perhaps you have not lived long enough to listen to the wisdom of your elders when it is spoken.”

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

“Maids have told me stories ‘bout ‘cha, you see.” Maisie began. Her eyes wandered around before landing back on the man. 

“Stories ‘bout who you were and what ya did. A witch, you are.” She couldn’t help but give off a childish smile, already remembering all the fascinating tales she’d been told. “You’re very old, sir.” She continued before looking up into the sky to calculate how old he might be by now. “Uhm… twelve hundred years give or take, yeah?” 

Maisie was amazing about remembering stories or facts about other fey, especially witches. “Ya reside at the Sanctuary.” She returned her oval pupils back to the man. 

“I know ‘bout you more than ya think..” Maisie smirked. “Just the maids don’t dare say your name.” She shrugged. 

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

This girl was sickeningly innocent, and Cynwrig did not find this fact endearing. Oh yes, every little girl and boy in Nore knew of the wicked witch who resided in the Sanctuary. But did that mean they knew him? Of course not. Not a single soul in Nore could claim such intimacy. Not even Maeve. But he would allow this girl her presumptuousness, if only because the stories often provided him a small measure of entertainment.

“Your maids would do well not to utter my name,” he said. “There is a power in names that very few heed. But I am sure they have already told you that.

“Which leaves their stories,” he said, trailing off as a smirk came to fully to his lips. “Whatever do these maids think they know of me? What tales have they told you of the Sanctuary witch?”

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

Maisie was completely taken aback by the man’s blunt replies.  Licking her lips and putting strands of hair behind her ear, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Standing still was certainly not her specialty especially when her mind was wandering to the different smells and the ideas of playing with the rats in the palace. 

The girl scoffed sharply at his crude remarks,”Capacity for understanding?” She crossed her arms across her chest and arched her eyebrow.  “Jus’ because you might know more than me, does not mean my mind capacity is ….” Maisie tried thinking of a word quickly,”Small.” That wasn’t exactly what she wanted to say. 

And now this man was declining her friendliness? He must be awfully lonely.  Her face relaxed but her jaw tightened.  “How d’you know I don’t know who ya are? Maybe your name’s slipped my mind? Maybe I’ve heard stories ‘bout ya or maybe I just want to be friendly.” 

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

The girl looked about ready to jump out of her skin. But still she lingered, dragging on this rather one-sided argument. Usually Cynwrig wouldn’t abide such things, but with one troublesome little pest at his side, he found he could stand another. Though for how long his patience would last, not even he was sure.

The corner of his lip ticked upward in a half-hearted smirk as the girl struggled for words. Her flimsy rebuttal did nothing to change his low opinion of her. But Cynwrig had a low opinion of most everyone. No Norn had seen even half as much as he, and none ever would. So why shouldn’t he think himself above them? There was nothing they could teach that he did not already know. It was why he kept to himself; to his books and his spells. At least they held some interest, whereas girls like this... Girls like this simply tired him.

“I presume you do not know me as you do not know my name. Surely it has existed longer than you have, and will continue to long after you have passed. So how is it that you do not know my name when I have dwelled in this kingdom for centuries? Why, I have a mind to be offended by this ignorance.

He smirked then. ”But that owl did give you quite a fright. Perhaps it is fear that has hindered your memory.”

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

Maisie almost pouted when she saw the man begin to leave her standing there without a word. Utterly confused, the girl fidgeted with her hands and quickly looked around. 

“Leave you alone? W-Why would I want it? Obviously he likes you more than he fancies me..” Maisie scrunched up her nose. 

She was at loss of words ( a surprise ) to say to this man. He made her feel curious, almost more stubborn than she usually was. Was it because he too was as stubborn as she was? Or maybe he just intrigued her. 

“C-Can I at least have your name..?” The maids never told her his name but only called him Witch. 

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

Yes, it would seem that this owl was much more fond of the witch than the young girl who sat before him. And therein was Cynwrig’s problem. He had no need for a companion. His Sanctuary and his mind were all the company he’d ever need. But there seemed to be no reasoning with this blasted animal. Lesser creatures could be so very stubborn that way. Surely in a few days it would find another to pester. And if not, there were several spells Cynwrig could dispense to send the winged fool elsewhere.

Preoccupied by his own thoughts, he had nearly forgotten the girl’s presence altogether. “I did not say that you wanted it,” came Cynwrig’s curt reply. “And this creature fancying me does not make it mine. Surely with your sort of magic you cannot be that hard of hearing. But perhaps it has diminished your capacity for understanding. Hm.”

The witch seemed to cast the insult away as an afterthought, one which he might ponder when he returned to the solitude of his home. He’d seen all sorts of eye magic in his travels, and this girl did not seem anything rare or special. But he did find the correlations between the human and animal aspects of those with eye magic fascinating.

But again, he had abandoned their conversation, if you could call it such. Though the girl’s next words did draw his attention. There were very few in Nore who did not know the name of the dark witch, and Cynwrig found himself rather displeased by this rare discovery.

“And why should I give you my name?” he asked. “Clearly it was not an important enough thing to know until this bird started clawing at you.”

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

Maisie was awed by the man’s kindness and behavior with the owl - she was almost jealous of how he controlled the animal was calmly. Bright sparks came from the strange man and she’d never been happier to see someone with abilities. 

Her hands came up to cradle the holes that were pierced into her skin and she slowly rose from the ground. 

“Do birds often try to make a meal of you when you are in your human form?” The man spoke with a voice that sent chills down her spine. It was only polite to raise her eyes to the person who saved her from certain death. 

Maisie gawked at the blonde haired man. She knew who it was… Though she did not know his name, she would listen to the women in the palace talk of a witch who resided in the Sanctuary - a place where she barely visited.

Did he know she was of fey? Was she really that out there?

“Uhm…” Maisie looked down at her hands and arms that still had spots of blood. She perked up though, flashing a cheesy grin,”I honestly don’t know how to respond to that, sir.” A small chuckle came from her as her already brown cheeks responded to embarrassment with a darker tone. 

“Thank you though. I did not mean to seem so harsh to your ….owl.” Maisie gritted her teeth at the word owl and felt her gums grow sore. 

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

Cynwrig would have scoffed at being referred to as kind. There were many words that Cynwrig would use to describe himself, but that certainly wasn’t one. Yes, he’d helped the girl as this deranged owl swooped upon her, but it wasn’t his gentle heart which had provoked him to assist. This stupid animal, for whatever reason, seemed to be his responsibility now. And if his name was to be frowned upon by the people of Nore, it wouldn’t be at the fault of some stupid bird.

His eyes moved downward to examine the wounds upon her legs and shoulders. They were not horribly deep, and would mend quickly so long as they were bandaged and cared for. He would let Ursula take care of that, he thought with a sneer. If she wanted to tend to these people like her pets, who was he to stop her?

Deciding then that this girl was no longer any of his business, the witch turned to leave without an answer to his query. But he stopped when he heard her quiet voice proclaiming the owl as his.

“That thing is not mine,” he said, pointing at the owl which still followed close at his side. “You can be as harsh with it as you need be. Maybe that will get the bloody thing to leave me alone.”

[xavierxpiest-deactivated2016071]

Vicious Circles || Cynwrig & Xavier

[xavierxpiest-deactivated2016071]

Failed.

The word clawed at his throat like talons, biting into his windpipe through flesh and cutting off the air, leaving only a tine gap for shallow breaths to escape in and out, fast and silent as so quick that it was a wonder he hadn’t passed out just yet; he was more than certain that the moment he started running away, like he did from everything, would be the moment his legs gave out and led to collapse. He’d fail at that too.

But then, he wasn’t really failing here, was he. He wasn’t standing in the Sanctuary in the Wastes, this wasn’t the first time. He was standing in his childhood home, trying to ignore the stink of sadness in the air as his mother screamed at him. Get out! This is all your fault! You miserable, disgusting failure! Spend another minute in my house, you wretched curse of a boy, and you’ll be regretting it dearly! Never do anything right, curse your brothers to die, you coward. How could you? How could I ever think something good would come out of you, moreover? You’ll never amount to anything more than failure, I should have known. OUT!

Memory had kept a more vivid record; recollection under a stressed mind simplified right to the point. He failed, he hurt, he was cursed, and even his own mother had thrown him out for that. Into the same cold that beckoned from the open door of the Sanctuary. His mother had seen it. His mother had rejected him for it, and rightly so.

Why would a witch be any different?

His legs nearly buckled beneath him when he tried to step back, his lips tugging downwards, eyes once more collecting a storm of tears.  He needed to get out f here; he couldn’t move. He was frozen still, and a single step would be his invitation to meet the ground, and to anger Cynwrig further if he broke the vial of potion that was shaking with his hands.

He felt as though he was going to die of panic alone, then and there. Sight began to waver, and his hand weakly extended from his chest, holding out the vial. Don’t break this, it was the singular reasonable thought that could form in a mind that was tearing itself apart, ripping up every shred of resilience he had built up. Had it ever been that much at all? Had he ever recovered? Or was it all hiding, was his mask, albeit a bad one, ripped off now, to reveal the scared little boy beneath. Did he wanted to know? Was reality going to be any help? Or was it going to just remind him of what he was?

“D-don’t… b-break…” the words came out barely above a whisper, a mere couple gasps that caught sound as he tried to press the vial back to Cynwrig, to get it out of his hands. It was a goal to focus on, don’t break it, don’t break it, don’t let if drop or he was going to draw more wrath onto a soul that had reached it’s very limit for that. It was overwhelming, crushing him down, a single memory vivid in his head, stirred into this present. It was all he had; don’t break this.

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

The vial was wrenched from the miserable boy’s hands, Cynwrig opening his palm as it once more dropped into his hand. He didn’t care about the trauma the boy suffered. He didn’t care how much courage it had taken him just to reach this point. All that Cynwrig could see was his anger, and how he had been slighted by such a weak, pathetic creature. If it were his bloody sister would this whelp feel more at ease? If it were she who brewed this spell would he not have taken it readily?

It was this that drove the witch into a blind rage; bottles launched themselves into walls, candles were snuffed out with a sudden and strong gust of wind. It was not often that Cynwrig was driven to such anger, and it was a terrifying and dangerous thing to behold. Like a brewing storm, it was safest for those nearby to take shelter.

But Xavier was too scared to run.

“Leave. Now,” the witch growled, a thick accent punctuating his words. There would be no mercy for the boy if he did not follow Cynwrig’s instructions to the letter.

Hopefully he was not fool enough to attempt bravery now.

[fingerprintwriter-blog]

It was just another ordinary day in Nore, Maisie believed. But the same routine day after day got quite tiresome and her feet weren’t thanking her either. 

Being the devious little child she was, Maisie had decided to shrink herself into her normal ball of thick fur and traded in her hands for fluffy little paws. For most of the afternoon, the feline had found herself nestled in an abandoned box one of the merchants in the Market Square had thrown out. 

But it hadn’t been too long before her ears were twitching at the sound of rustling little squeaks and chirps. Birds? Yummy Fun. Mice? Squishy and Nice. Her large eyes blinked open to reveal enlarged pupils with a hungry appetite. 

Quickly, Maisie jumped out of the box and went into a full sprint for tiny feet that scampered through the alleyways of the Market. Her chest filled with air hesitantly, causing her tongue to slightly hang out of her mouth and a chittering sound to rise from her throat before her claws sprawled out and latched onto her kill. Blood soaked her pads and the smell of dirt and moss stained her fur. 

But as she looked down at her kill, her gag reflex was triggered. The rat had been in a fight recently and a large gash in his side was raw with dead skin and the signs of flies feasting. 

Her back arched numerous times before puking up the remains of her morning’s feast. Dammit…

Maisie cursed to herself, to humans she was quite a noisy cat, and scattered from the murder scene. She already knew someone would’ve came out and kicked her out of the way or grabbed her by the scruff and thrown her out into the fields. 

She found a quite alleyway on the outskirts of the Market and shed her fur for blood stained skin. Maisie was practically naked and once realizing that, she ran barefoot (something she enjoyed) to the nearest home she could find while avoiding peoples’ eyes. Her dainty hands found clothes hanging up outside of a house that was emitting so much heat, making Maisie wanting to curl back up and sleep. No! She needed to needed to get back to work. Her slim figure fit itself into a boy’s ragged shirt, a woman’s shaw, and pants - surprised that her hips could fit comfortably in them. 

Sure she didn’t match and looked like a mad woman, but the extra looks wouldn’t phase her - she was quite use to it. 

But going back into the Market only caused her more harm than good. Before she could even blink, the sound of heavy, beating wings filled her ears while sharp talons latched onto her shoulder. Maisie couldn’t help but scream her little heart out. Owls or any large bird was not for her faint heart. Don’t get her started on how they always would swoop down after her. 

“You bloody bird! Get the hell off of me!” She screamed, trying to thrash around and scare the bird. It was no good. The owl only simply flapped its wings, causing her big bundle of hair to fly over her face. 

“Who’s bloody bird is this?!” She squealed, dropping to the ground to only have the bird to hop to her legs and dig it’s talons back in. Maisie’s breathing was chaotic and simply outrageous. She didn’t want to move - scared the bird would sense the whiskers she wore and how great of a snack she would make once she sprouted her tail. Maisie couldn’t help it though.. She bared her teeth, revealing her sharpened canines and hissed wildly, just to get a screech back from the owl. 

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

This had all taken a rather dramatic turn, and Cynwrig hardly had the patience for it. Apparently his newfound companion had chosen this girl as the subject of its torment, and if she wasn’t causing such a ruckus, Cynwrig might have let the creature be. But the way it was flapping so excitedly, the way it went after her as if she were a morsel to be devoured was utterly mad. Raising a hand to cast a spell, the witch stopped in his tracks as the girl opened her mouth and hissed.

Ah, so she had some sort of catseye, did she? That would explain the owl’s rather uncouth behavior. “That is a girl, not a meal, you imbecile,” he hissed at the creature, a snap of his fingers bringing forth a spark of bright light to send the owl skittering away.

It squawked angrily at the witch, but still somehow managed to flutter to his side. Heaving a great sigh, Cynwrig looked at the girl now curled up before him. “Do birds often try to make a meal of you when you are in your human form?” he asked, ignoring the wounds which she surely sustained from the owl’s sharp talons. “Or are you just particularly delectable today?”

[fire-of-the-dawn]

I want these setups soooo bad

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

Cynwrig had an admirer, and this admirer just so happened to have wings.

It had been a little over an hour since the witch had abandoned the forests for the Market Square. The sun was finally beginning to settle beneath the horizon, and the business of the day was drawing to a close. But apparently Cynwrig’s new companion had not taken note of the time, for still he followed behind the witch as he made the last of his purchases.

His infernal looming had nearly driven the witch to madness, and when finally he could take no more he snapped. “I have nothing for you,” he hissed at the creature. “Leave me to my peace, or I shall help you find yours in the afterlife.”

The owl only tilted its head in query, giving a little hoot before coming to perch at the witch’s side. A derisive sigh passed his lips then, fingers pinching impatiently at the bridge of his nose. He had no need of another owl taking residence in the Sanctuary’s rafters.

But it seemed his problem had finally rectified itself. He heard the beating of the animal’s great wings, signalling that he’d finally left Cynwrig to his solitude. Prepared to beat a hasty retreat back home, he was stopped in his tracks by the shrieks which the cursed beast soon let out. The witch turned then, frowning to see he’d perched beside some human – who looked about as pleased about its presence as himself. An annoyed little sneer wrinkling up his nose, the witch continued on with his one-sided conversation.

“What is it now?” he groaned. “You have found another to pester. Let me return to my home without all this fuss.”

[mirrormasquerade]

Arzusun | Dante & Cynwrig

[mirrormasquerade]

The flitting balls of light seemed as excited for Dante’s arrival as they did, though far less winded and worn from travel. How lovely a life it must have been to be a sprite without a cumbersome form - free to float and bound with ease. Such trains of thought were interrupted as the mask maker came within view of the Sanctuary.

The deafening surge of blood rushed to their ears again, mouth dry as sand and eyes wide. Truly, this was the point of no return and any fears that had quieted culminated into a raging thunder as the light landscape became sculpted in fierce reality.

As they lay footfalls away from the door, the seekers bobbed a final time before dimming, Dante desperately reaching for one as if to save it. While they were beings of magic, the mask maker felt a bit of a soft spot for the round little sun spots. But they faded far more quickly than could be caught and their outstretched hand fell against the parted door.

Cynwrig’s voice was level, calm, perhaps even aloof and Dante made no move to argue his request. There was a brief moment of hesitation before the lithe form of the artisan slipped in. Cloak and boots were quickly discarded, left to hang and dry as they sat by the fire. Dante was immensely thankful for the warm and focused on the crackling heat just beyond the stool.

“Thank you, its quite cold today. More so than usual.”

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

Cynwrig hadn’t noticed the cold biting any more than it had for the past twelve years. But then, Cynwrig was more accustomed to the frigid temperatures and the darkness than most. Settling himself in a seat across from the mask maker, he hummed a noncommittal response. They were not here to discuss the weather, and Cynwrig was not known for his small talk. He had agreed to give Dante a moment to recover, but he had certainly not promised a chatty companion.

His leg lifting to cross over his knee, a snap of the witch’s fingers saw a book sailing into his lap. The tome opened to the precise page he’d been visiting for days now, the words echoing in his mind before his eyes could even see them. The spell which would help Dante lay just before him, but he would not reveal its contents until the other was ready.

“I have a spell for warmth as well, if you have want of it,” he finally replied. “It sits just on that shelf there,” he said, absently waving a hand as a nearby vile floated towards them.

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

With the Wind || Cynwrig & Lyric

[aserenadeoficeandfire-blog]

Teeth found her lower tier, pillowed themselves among the flesh as the dark-haired scholar studied the Witch. He was so interesting, there were simply so many things to note about his appearance and mannerisms that Lyric couldn’t help but look at everything at least twice to be sure she wouldn’t forget it. Even now, despite her rock in the chill, she fought the urge to fidget from one foot to the other. There were endless questions that fought to leave her lips next, but she paced them on at a time, at the very tip of her tongue. This was a rare occurrence and no amount of excitement would have Lyric forgetting that.

So of course she hung on his every word. Studying was the word that caught her attention more than anything … something that made such a living myth all the more tangible. If you can’t touch him to ensure this is real, you can at least anchor yourself to the experience. Sometimes her logic was flawed, but Lyric chose to ignore that now. “Am I allowed to ask some of the things you’ve conjured?”

Lyric would have sworn there was no way that she could sound more excited or interested, and yet as the words bubbled forward it captured a more child-like interest. Perhaps it was his mentioning the similarities between them that spread the smile so easily across her features. To hold anything akin to Cynwrig was something of a personal honor, and now there was no possible way to cap her sheer thrill at their meeting. Even if he stormed off now she would feel it a success. With a deep exhalation, vapor escaped her lips in a smoky cloud.

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

“You are allowed to do as you wish,” the witch replied coolly. “I am not your King. My laws do not demand your silence.” But he could silence her if he wished. It would take so little effort to snap her lips shut with a spell. He didn’t wish to though. A curious thing, given how prone to impatience Cynwrig could be.

“You wish to know the sort of things I have conjured in my many years,” he said with a step forward. “I shall tell you, but my tales will come at a price.” Carefully, he eyed the woman. The magic she possessed was powerful and renowned, and yet somehow the witch had never bared witness to it. That would change today.

“You must show me your magic in return. I have not encountered anyone with your magic in hundreds of years, as I expect you have never witnessed a witch’s conjuring. It is a fair deal, I think. The only question is, will you accept it?”

[tanaquil]

“A comprehensive botanical A-Z of magical herbs and fungi for easy plant identification and application”

[thedarkwitch-cynwrig]

Cynwrig had an admirer, and this admirer just so happened to have wings.

It had been a little over an hour since the witch had abandoned the forests for the Market Square. The sun was finally beginning to settle beneath the horizon, and the business of the day was drawing to a close. But apparently Cynwrig’s new companion had not taken note of the time, for still he followed behind the witch as he made the last of his purchases.

His infernal looming had nearly driven the witch to madness, and when finally he could take no more he snapped. “I have nothing for you,” he hissed at the creature. “Leave me to my peace, or I shall help you find yours in the afterlife.”

The owl only tilted its head in query, giving a little hoot before coming to perch at the witch’s side. A derisive sigh passed his lips then, fingers pinching impatiently at the bridge of his nose. He had no need of another owl taking residence in the Sanctuary’s rafters.

But it seemed his problem had finally rectified itself. He heard the beating of the animal’s great wings, signalling that he’d finally left Cynwrig to his solitude. Prepared to beat a hasty retreat back home, he was stopped in his tracks by the shrieks which the cursed beast soon let out. The witch turned then, frowning to see he’d perched beside some human -- who looked about as pleased about its presence as himself. An annoyed little sneer wrinkling up his nose, the witch continued on with his one-sided conversation.

“What is it now?” he groaned. “You have found another to pester. Let me return to my home without all this fuss.”