Knights of Anathaeum What Hides In The Dark

[Julian Benavide]

The sky was gray, clouds gathering on the horizon, assuring rain soon. Every step the knights took brought them further away from the Monastery but the Eldyr Tree could still be seen amid the clouds. Their mission on this night was a bit closer to home, but that did not mean it was any easier. The Knights had had encounters with The Witches of the Moon before, but they had had a few years of peace after an agreement between the two groups. Julian supposed witches couldn't be trusted, especially when only a river or two separated them.

Thunder boomed in the difference, and a humid breeze ruffled Julian's dark hair, which was gradually becoming more and more frizzy. He reached back and tied it up as they walked. The Witches, for a reason unknown to the knights yet, had killed a squire and a Dusk Knight. Since the witches had previously agreed not to kill any of the knights, the knights took offense, and within reason. Julian had heard the phrase "shits and giggles" when discussing why the witches would do such a thing. It only made him hate them more. They didn't even have a good reason.

So that was why they marched towards the river, fully expecting to meet a slew of witches waiting for them. They had a second wave waiting in case they needed back up; the witches hadn't earned their bloodthirsty reputation for nothing.

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast bristled at the prospect of the thunder that did peal in the distance, still unaccustomed to the sounds in the open skies that he now called home. He did give admonishment with his eyes to the rolling echo of lightning roiling, scowling at the source of it that lurked in distant cloud as if to chide it into silence.

Valborast knew that not all lightning was born from natural occurrence. Rather such emanations might be summoned by the whims of these witches, who had already brought about the death of their number by foul means. He wished he had paid more mind to this business of covens in this moment, but he was well enough prepared in his arrogance for any threat without full report of the previous bargains struck.

There would be satisfaction in remedying these peace talks broken with bloodied sword he thought. Nestled at his belt with rich hues of crimson was his traditional blade, which seemed eager to do the duty that was asked of it. Not that it would be the first exchange of matters between their hosts, he thought. First would come the barrage of magics that did emanate from these hags, this much Valborast assumed.

Close the distance and there would be much victory in the making, Valborast thought. Stay at range to allow them their toils upon us, and we shall be broken.

He looked to his comrades in this moment that did move as host to right the wrong of a squire and Dusk knight being felled.

"Syr Benavide," Valborast addressed, drawing near the the knight of Dawn. He looked to the distance, scanning for any sign of those they were to put down. He gestured flippantly at it.

"I hope your magicks are up to the task of retorting these...hags," Valborast said, with firm satisfaction in delivering the term with withering tone, "In close range they'll be easy enough fodder with steel, but they'll hurl plenty at us in the distance. Do you think the lightning is there's to command from the skies?", the Crimson Knight asked, some minor trepidations about the author of the thunder revealing itself in the question.

He looked to the clouds again as it ignored his visual command to be silent, rumbling with more intensity now, as if encouraged by Valborast's question.

Julian Benavide

 

[Bridget Darkfield]

Excitement rumbled from across the Wood Clan territory, through the hilltops and plains of the Sky Clan's territory, then heard and felt by those in the Iron Clan.

Men were marching towards them. Knighted men.

Bridget was swift, arriving at the border of Sky and Wood to be as close as she could be to hear the eventual cries of the men and company before they died. To march against them was to defy their shared agreement of peace, but the witches never swore such a thing with their blood.

"Should the Heir Daughter of the Wood Clan allow us passage, we will have many souls to offer the High Mother this night, sisters." Bridget did not need to turn to see her coven behind her, nor worry if they would hear her or not.

Her voice was spoken in the shadows blanketing the world around them, heard by any witch in their vicinity.

 

[Briar White]

Sounds of the approaching knights was brought to Briar and her coven on the wind. Briar could sense the excitement among her sisters at the meal that seemed bent on serving itself at the witches' front door. Briar knew why the knights were marching, but many of the witches' in her clan did not. It was only because of her proximity to the knights that she witnessed the slaying of two of the Knights' ranks, at the hands of an Iron Witch.

How the Iron Witch had passed through not only Sky Clan territory but Wood as well was a mystery to Briar, and it displeased her. Despite the ages-long feud between knights and witches, as far as Briar was aware, this killing had been unprovoked. The Mother's Revenge was over, the nights of blood and darkness passed- it would do none of them good to start a feud anew with the Knights. There was a reason that Iron Clan had the northernmost territory, furthest from the knights.

Briar and her coven sat amongst the branches of the trees bordering the edge of their land. From here she could see the river in the distance, and the knights marching their way ever closer. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled in the distance, but it too was drawing closer. Blood would be spilled this night; Briar knew it was nigh impossible to avoid.

Briar's second spoke up, announcing the presence of Willow, the Lady Mother of Wood. She turned to her aunt, not surprised to see the cold pleasure in her gray eyes. "Sky Clan is at our border," the older witch said.

Briar returned her gaze to the marching knights. "Are you going to let them in?"

"Only the Heir Daughter and her coven. Wood Clan can take care of this easily enough," Such cool confidence in her voice. Did she know why they marched, or was just looking forward to taking their youth and beauty?

Briar was glad when Willow did not say she planned on allowing Iron Clan through as well. She would have challenged her aunt over it; it would be a foolish thing to do.

Bridget Darkfield

 

[Lylian Darkfoot]

Lylian turned her gaze up to the darkening skies. The air hummed with energy, both from the impending storm and the witches' gathering to meet the knights. Unrest was high on this night, from all directions. All the witches' felt it, and she was sure the Knights felt it as well.

Lylian did not know why they marched. She had thought them smarter than this, she had thought they knew better than to break a peace agreement and march towards three clans of women who would have no qualms about killing every single one of them. She was about to say something to Bridget about it, when a Wood Clan witch appeared between the trees, her dark hair wild with wind and leaves.

A knife was in Lylian's hand and a shadow wrapped around her other hand in seconds, ready to defend Bridget at a moment's notice.

"Willow Farbranch says the Heir Daughter's coven may cross," she said, her voice laced with excitement at the fight to come.

Lylian did not lower her knife but let her shadow dissipate as the Wood witch beckoned them forward. She glanced at Bridget, and then motioned at Bridget's third to cover the front, the rest of the Sky Clan's Heir Daughter's coven following behind as they crossed into Wood territory.

Bridget Darkfield

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka was glad for the distraction that came with this mission, even as the clouds gathered on the horizon and thunder echoed. The trees were dark and foreboding in the distance, but the group of knights had a more pressing matter to worry about- the river. It was not necessarily deep; Byanka guessed its deepest point would be up to her waist. But if they wanted to cross it they would have to get wet. All things considered, if the storm brewing came to fruition, they would soon be wet anyways.

Byanka recognized Syr Benavide from the Himbofest a few days prior, and his cocky attitude seemed unchanged. She overheard Syr Valchek ask if the storm was the witches' doing, and she shot the storm clouds another look. Could the witches' really create something so big? It looked pretty natural to Byanka, but she in truth did not know what the full expanse of what the witches' were capable of.

She glanced around to her fellow knights, taking note of their numbers.

Julian Benavide Valborast Valchek

 

[Nacht]

Nacht ambled along behind everyone else, knowing that his position as a squire meant he was a somewhat weak link in an otherwise strong chain. Not to mention that after Dunhold, he tried to avoid Byanka solely because he did not want to intentionally irritate the Knight since that was rather mean and also likely to result in a well aimed kick towards somewhere sensitive. That was how most of the kids back in Astenvale dealt with annoyances, he thought. The thought of his hometown made him momentarily reminisce, wondering where his classmates and such were nowadays. Well, whatever. Definitely not the time to get stuck in the past when they were currently dealing with an issue most definitely in the present.

He hadn't known the poor squire and knight pair that perished at the hands of the seemingly unprovoked witch, nor could he recognize their mangled bodies while they were being buried. What a cruel way to leave the mortal world, in a state where nobody but your closest friends will remember your face. He had volunteered for the trip to go see the other side. It seemed as though they had no defense according to the knights, but it was always good to check. There was no reason to get mad if everything turned out to be fully justified. He continued on as they got closer and closer to the river, steeling himself for the possible fight ahead.

His allies were strong in their own right, most likely. He had not much experience with either Julian (A fellow competitor) or Valborast, but Byanka could handle herself, so they probably could too. He got the general feeling nobody really had much confidence that he would do too much, but that just meant there was oom to prove them wrong if that truly was the case. For now, he simply smiled excitedly as he always did and tried to enjoy the brisk weather.

Byanka Valkas Valborast Valchek Julian Benavide

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian's nerves were on edge as they approached the river. He turned to Syr Valchek as the knight addressed him, shooting nervous glances at the storm gathering on the horizon.

"Of course they are," he replied casually, as if this was merely a training exercise. "But I do not think the storm is the witches' doing." Julian was well versed in magic of the earth and air and he was nearly certain this storm was natural.

Julian was about to make a comment about how he had heard the witches' were not hags at all but incredible beauties, but he didn't get to, because it started to sprinkle, and the sprinkle quickly turned into a downpour. Within seconds they were all drenched.

"Lovely," he muttered. Visibility had become decreased, and now they had reached the river, with nothing to do but cross it. He considered attempting to part the waters so they could walk across but water was not his strong suit; and besides, they were already soaked, what was a little more water?

He glanced back at their group, hoping spirits didn't dampen along with everything else. He was glad to see Nacht seemed excited as usual, and Byanka looked tired, also as usual. He gave each of them a nod, saying, "We'll have to cross the river," before turning back around and taking the first steps into the frigid water.

Valborast Valchek Nacht Bridget Darkfield

 

[Bridget Darkfield]

"Sky Clan are strongest in a storm." Bridget turned to look at her coven, meeting each of their eyes before turning forward and starting to move. They all stepped forward in unison, moving as one unit connected with their sworn oath to the Heir Daughter. "Can anyone tell me why that is?"

The energy was erratic, troublesome, but not those trained by Bridget. It was a gift of the High Mother, and power only a coven can control together to wield. The storm had changed the stakes in the fight to come, feeding Bridget's lust for bloodshed.

"Lylian."

It was important her Second was in sync with her, that the two remain on the same page when it came to conbat. They were lethal, together, and those after her Second were, too, brutal witches scrounged up to practice the views their Heir Daughter wished to steer the Clan towards.

Lylian Darkfoot

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast had no understanding of the lightning that dwelled within the sky, nor the magic that might bear it into those clouds or within the fingers to eject. He gave a silent affirmation of hearing the council from Julian, who had a firm grasp on such matters, but Valborast still felt the weight of his suspicions guide his opinion, for his own opinion was rarely superseded by anyone at all.

The rain did fall, and Valborast lashed out with a cantrip to prevent the whipping of water against his person. A gesture of sharp dismissal to the rain, as if it were a servant that lingered too long from impudence. His crimson apparel did gain an oilslick shades wherever the rain did strike, as hydrophobic properties became so by his gesture. He did give scowl that he had to provide such protection of being sodden, and watched as Julian did began to wade into the river with barely contained dismay.

Teeth did grind at the folly, scowl extended from cloud to comrade, and he did look to Nacht and Byanka who did make approach, discontent upon his face. Anyone who knew of him even in vague mention enough knew this was a default expression of the fellow, but as always, the man felt justified in his discontent.

"You two, Syr and Squire, we form the vanguard," Valborast did command, raising chin as he did so, hands upon his cloak did offer a pointalist painting of oil slick markings as the rain was denied entry. He did not make this a request, but an order by virtue of the necessity.

"My magics shall carry us across the water by shadow. I'll not have Syr Julian and those who wade pounced upon in their sodden decision," Valborast did say, looking with authority to his chosen volunteers as he turned upon the spot, his cloak lacking the weight of wetness as he did pivot, billowing as magic did give rise from his summons.

Black tendrils gathered helpfully about the heels and calves of the three, magic born of knowledge of darkness, magic born from the tactical need. One would feel a further compulsion to spring, to soar, to leap, to bound, as the ink black billowing essence did compel and enable one so.

He gave one address before the bound to gain ground, his voice attempting to inspire, yet the constant thrum of being slighted at the effort performed was in his tone did it's part to subvert his efforts.

"Come. For our comrades sake, let us hold the front at bay from surprise strike. Leap simply, the shadows shall bear you true, as so," Valborast said, and barely a heartbeat provided to his company, did make elegant bound that seemed more a performance of arcane gymnastics than physical feat.

He did traverse in one graceful movement, cloak akin to wings gliding as he did make passage across the frigid waters, black motes moving about his feet as if they were agitated by such proxmity to the water's flow. Eyes fixed to the ground he would land upon, and beyond into territory that marked the danger, instead of those who he compelled to follow.

His blade remained sheathed, for there would be much magic to defend and direct he thought, if these witches were to be thwarted. No, he corrected.

Avenged against.

He landed, and held hands ready to perform the gestures to untangle the magics that might land upon him, and those he had chosen to bound along with him. If...they did make the decision to bound with him at all instead of wading into the water. If they were to enter the water to trudge, and leave Valborast alone, the black ink would dissipate into the waters and leave their hosts.

Valborast stood and breathed through a moustache that was quickly becoming wet and did give scowl to the treeline that might erupt into retort at any moment, hands raised in arcane gesture as he did feel his heart begin to pound at the realities of being so bold, merely waiting to be struck as the time grew long in anticipation of witch magic fierce and fast.

Byanka Valkas Nacht Bridget Darkfield Julian Benavide

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka met Julian gaze for gaze, glad for the reassuring look in his eyes, even if it was down-pouring and they were to walk through a river into enemy territory. Julian marched into the river with purpose, and then the knight he had talked to turned to face Byanka and Nacht. Other knights followed Julian, but some gave pause when they overheard what Valborast was saying about 'leaping' over the water.

Byanka was very much glad for it as in two bounding steps on nothing but shadow, she made it across the river over Julian's head, touching down next to Valborast. "Thank you," she said, giving the other knight a nod. She knew without having to look at him that Julian would be annoyed that he was soaked and some were not, but Byanka's focus was on the trees ahead.

Energy hummed in the air, nearly as erratic as it had been on the three nights of darkness. Byanka reached outwards with the loch, sensing around a dozen people- witches- at the border of the trees. What were they waiting for?

Julian Benavide Valborast Valchek Nacht Bridget Darkfield Briar White Lylian Darkfoot

 

[Briar White]

Briar watched amusedly as the knights took differing approaches on how to cross the river bordering Knights' and Witches' territories. She narrowed her eyes at the few travelling by shadows, bounding across the air above the river. So they had shadow wielders as well. Briar was glad her aunt had let Bridget's clan in; they were more trained in shadows, and Briar knew Bridget was more likely to use her powers to kill. She wondered for a moment why the Heir Daughter of Sky Clan hadn't challenged her grandmother yet, but she thought there was no rush. All good things came in time.

Without saying a word, Briar raised a hand, gesturing at the rest of her coven, motioning that they should descend from the trees. Then she scaled down the tree she was in, landing lightly on sandaled feet. Her loose, dirt brown hair whipped about her face in the wind, and she pulled it back into a braid, knotting it at the end. She stepped out from under the canopy of the trees, the rain immediately upon her. She found it refreshing rather than bothersome.

She turned to look over her shoulder; her whole coven was gathered behind her. Her aunt had disappeared once more, and Briar knew this was to be her fight. Just as she sensed Bridget, the Heir Daughter of the Sky Clan and her coven appeared through the trees behind them, led by one of Briar's own witches. A joyous mood was about the 26 witches as they gathered at the edge of the forest, now fully in sight of the approaching knights.

Bridget Darkfield

 

[Lylian Darkfoot]

Lylian glanced at Bridget as she spoke before returning her gaze in front of them.

"We are of the Sky," Lylian replied softly. It was the High Mother's doing, she was sure of it; this storm of such intensity, such energy, on this night of all nights. The storm threatened to grow chaotic, and Lylian smiled. Witches thrived on chaos.

She was in step with Bridget as they approached the Heir Daughter of Wood Clan and her coven, ready to defend her Heir Daughter at a moment's notice from any enemy that might present itself; without or within.

The two covens emerged at the edge of the trees, allowing Lylian a better view of the hazy sky. She turned her face upwards, letting the rain wash down her face and stream down her neck; imagining that it was the High Mother herself blessing her daughters on their fight ahead.

After a moment Lylian returned her gaze forward. "The High Mother is with us on this night," she said softly, but still loud enough for all the witches to hear her.

Bridget Darkfield

 

[Nacht]

Well, that was quite a responsibility. They would be backing the whole group up, which meant being hyper-vigilant. Well, maybe not just yet. For now, he saluted and leaped over the river, marveling about how smooth the feeling of weightlessness was. Valborast was definitely an expert. He looked up, his dark-adapted eyes cutting through the shade and observing the sky and the trees and a foot and- wait, a foot? "Everyone, stop. They're above us, I think." He said loudly, loud enough to reach the tips of the trees using the power of echoes. Bringing his voice down, he would move over and talk to Syr Valchek. "Right, so...do we need to immediately fight them? Don't get me wrong, I want the witch who did this brought to justice, but it was only one, right? I think this procession might be giving the wrong idea."

Valborast Valchek Julian Benavide

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian glared daggers at Valborast, Byanka, and Nacht, as they declared themselves the Vanguard and floated elegant over everyone else's heads. He trudged out of the river on the opposite side, in witch territory, grumbling about how wet he was.

He didn't grumble for long however, because, about seven feet away, was the tree line, where evidently the witches' were hiding in the trees waiting. After Nacht stated that the witches were above them, they dropped from the trees, more witches appearing behind them. Julian counted them mentally- there were 26 witches facing them with murder glinting in their eyes.

Julian swallowed hard. "They certainly don't look like hags to me," he muttered to Valborast beside him. They were all beautiful, in fact, a sort of scary beauty. Julian hated to kill them, but he knew they held no such reservations on killing him, so he put his thoughts aside.

"This doesn't have to get messy," Julian said, raising his voice so the witches could hear him over the wind and rain and thunder.

Valborast Valchek Byanka Valkas Nacht

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast soured at the mention of the witches not appearing as hags, carrying within his features a surly disposition as he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes briefly at the notion. The dark did much to heighten his imagination of the ugliness of those before him who slipped from treeline to the ground, flashes of the hiding thunder doing much to cast shadows upon shadows upon the faces and forms of foes.

Nacht's words were not upon deaf ears. If there was a saving grace in this moment, it was those words to Valchek in this time. He gave no sign that he had heard them, all except a momentary glance that affirmed such things, despite every footfall that had brought him here being powered by the contrary notion.

Julian did give address over the wind and rain, and Valborast let the words linger for a few heartbeats, before stepping forward himself. He walked as a noble might through a beautified courtyard, face determined to maintain some dignity in spite of the wind that did howl, the rain that did pelt, the force gathered that might lash out fiercer than either could.

He ran his fingers in a swift movement across his face upwards to his hair, making his damp hair more slick in the process. As his hands did leave his face, his eyes gained a glint of burnished copper about them as his sight was enhanced to see the forms true before him.

Ones who had taken the lives of two of his Order. Hags to his eyes for such deeds performed.

He gave address, his tone declaring the fact that had brought them here, rising to the occasion as Julian's had before him.

"Two of our number lie dead. One squire. One knight."

Valborast felt within him the urge to thrust out a finger to point at them, to wax lyrical and with scathing envenomed pronunciation of the vengeance that would be taken. To balk at their number, to promise much violence, to issue challenge, to demand shame from them.

But such were the longings of his ego, indulges of his vitriolic nature, to lash out from an all too ready place of comfort. Such would not do.

Instead the knightly way was his course. He spoke, dignified, balanced, as was worthy for his rank.

"How do you explain this," Valborast uttered.

He need not look to his comrades for support. Blades had been brought with the determination to bring them to bear. Valborast's hand did not linger near his own. Standing before them, he made the perfect target, hands pressed together in triangle, the diplomat's posture.

For all Valborast's faults, for indeed there were many, lack of courage was not one of them. Yet his estimation of being able to withstand the full brunt of these witches magics was another matter entire. His mind clasped the gestures that were but a snap of the tendon away to bring his defences, yet held taut and waiting within his frame as he awaited answer. Anything to afford further time to his comrades to ford the stream, for eyes to fix upon the targets, for the deeds of violence that may still be averted to be performed without further loss of their number.

Burnished copper eyes looked with all the scorn of accusation that his words did not carry, looking from each witch in turn. The Crimson Knight thinking if each set of eyes matched in gaze did carry bloodied hands about them.

Often was the scorn that Valborast carried within him. Rare was true justification for it's presence. And in that, there was a glimmer of hedonism within this mind matter. Outbursts contained against those that did slight him in his regular life amongst comrades would be expressed deservingly against these witches...if their response lacked the humility, the contrition he sought from them.

Eyes firm, fingers tented, Valborast harboured no illusions of the chance of that happening. Growing scorn was his byword, vengance his motive, yet honour binding him to present this civility before all might erupt as the clouds might with bolt about the gathered.

Byanka Valkas Nacht Bridget Darkfield Julian Benavide

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka's feet touched down on solid (or rather muddy) ground on the other side of the river. The rest of their group gathered around them, forming a wall with the river behind them. The knights had 24 in their number, consisting of both squires and knights. A generous number, considering the dwindling number in the Order, but they were still outnumbered (and perhaps even outmatched by the witches). She hoped they could not be outwitted.

The witches dropped from the treeline. Byanka could not see any weapons in their hands but that did not make her feel any better. They could do just as much damage with their bare hands; and that wasn't even considering their magical abilities.

Julian, and then Valborast spoke up, presenting a front of diplomacy. It certainly couldn't hurt, Byanka knew, to try and avoid fighting and bloodshed, but she knew from the look in the witches' eyes that anything less than a bloodbath would be disappointing and boring.

Byanka's sword remained sheathed as she waited for the witches to speak.

Nacht Valborast Valchek

 

[Briar White]

Briar took a mental assessment of the knights present before them. A flash of lightning illuminated faces more clearly. Near the front, she picked out three men and a woman. She thought she might be more forgiving with the women, but as for the men... she would not hold back.

One of the men she had noticed spoke up, and she hated the cocky confidence with which he carried himself, with how he spoke to her, as if he expected at his words she would drop to her knees before him and beg for forgiveness.

A man beside him spoke up, and at least he had the decency to state the facts and not make any assumptions. Yes, they had indeed killed two knights. But the witches rarely did anything unprovoked, even if violence was their only answer.

"What a self-righteous group you are," she replied after thunder echoed. "So sure of yourselves, certain in your values and morals. What a shame we haven't been able to test them often,"

She paused, mostly for dramatic effect, made all the better by the lightening and thunder and pouring rain.

"We did indeed kill two of your Order. But the fact that you do not know why reveals a weakness within your Order," Her voice was calm and even, and her face was firm, a smile still dancing across her mouth. "What do you say to this: your squire and your knight were found trying to cross into Wood Clan territory. Upon interrogation, they reluctantly revealed they had been sent for a sort of reconnaissance mission."

Once she finished, she moved her gaze slowly across all of the knights. Bridget would be able to speak if she wished.

Valborast Valchek Nacht Bridget Darkfield

 

[Nacht]

This is so stupid. Stupidstupidstupid. Nacht walked up and stopped slightly farther than the rest of the group, closer to the witches, hands up. His body shook, staring at the very women who had gladly either ripped or supported ripping a knight and squire to shreds. In the face of such a threat, he straightened up and stopped trembling, somehow. His fear would not get in the way of stopping a possibly bloody conflict. "Alright, hold on. It makes sense you're angry. Those Order members willfully ignored boundaries obviously set."

He said matter-of-factly, trying to shout as quietly as he could over the thunder and rain. "Please, if this was indeed our fault, just tell us who assigned the mission. Do you know?" He asked this carefully. "I wanted to hear you guys out. I think everyone's primal desire to rip each other to shreds is fucked-up nonsense, so maybe we could settle this without bloodshed." Of course, he would be the first one to die if things went belly up, but that was a risk he would take.

Bridget Darkfield Valborast Valchek Byanka Valkas

 

[Bridget Darkfield]

"And only those attuned with the High Mother are blessed with wielding the angriest of storms." She relayed to her Coven before they quickly traveled through their shadows, joining the Wood Clan's Heir Daughter's coven bordering the last of their territory, knights approaching.

There was a plain between both parties, and Bridget waited, toyed with time.

"The witches have upheld their end of the treaty, but someone betrayed your Order. As the treaty states, we are free to investigate and carry out punishment as we see it, as the same is also stated on your end."

But her blue eyes narrowed as the voice of a youngling spoke up.

"The history between witches and men is painted with bloodshed, child. If you wanted to negotiate, then you would have the audience of our Lady Mothers. You march with those that think they have the right to come to our lands for revenge. You chosen to fight with your brothers and sisters."

Bridget dared to leave the safety of the treeline, stepping under the open sky that was dark and heavy with storm. She breathed in the electricity clinging to the air, and with quick succession, a bolt struck behind the group of knights. The earth quaked, a burning stench wafting in the wind. Killing her mother was not the only reason Bridget was named Heir Daughter of Sky Clan.

"Let's hear it then." She called out to them. "Your justification of going against the treaty."

 

[Lylian Darkfoot]

Lylian stood by silently as Briar and Bridget led their two covens. They spoke with assured authority to the knights, and now she knew why an altercation was drawing near; why the High Mother raged in the sky. She would have liked to see Bridget draw down a storm; but there was still time and a fight to be had.

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed as Bridget spoke, and Lylian could not help but smile. Proof, as if they needed any, that the High Mother was watching over them this night, supporting her daughters in their endeavor.

Briar was right about the knights as well- they were sure in themselves and their abilities, and she wondered how many of them had actually known what two of their Order were doing in witch territory. She had not thought the knights were so foolish as to toe the line that been carefully drawn and achieved after much negotiations.

Bridget Darkfield

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian met the two witches that spoke gaze for gaze. He listened to all of their words, doing the mental math. He guessed that they were in charge tonight- though the blonde one had said they were not their Lady Mothers. He knew just enough about the witches to know the Lady Mother of each of the three clans was in charge. Their second in commands were the Heir Daughters, and Julian was very nearly certain that these two women were Heir Daughters of two of their clans. Which raised the question- where was the Heir Daugher of the Iron Clan? Why was she not here? It was certainly suspicious.

"Have all the witches upheld the treaty?" Julian asked, stepping forward. He was going out on a limb here, and he wasn't sure he was right, but he ought to try. Anything to give the knights a leg up. "Where are your Iron Witches?"

He paused a moment as lightning illuminated the blonde witch as she stepped forward. "No one was sent for any reconnaissance mission. We know our history; why would we toss any of our Order into your laps? I trust you know we are not that foolish."

As he spoke his mind and blood raced. If the two knights hadn't been sent by anyone in the Order to spy on the witches, why had the told the witches such a thing? Had they lied? Or had the witches lied? Julian wished he could ask the squire and the knight, but they were both dead, their secrets with them.

The pieces did not fit.

Valborast Valchek Nacht Bridget Darkfield

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast breathed in the air that was slashed with water, hands now lowering from diplomat's posture back into passive readiness, hands to his side, ready to launch his magics in response to what might be brought to bear. He felt the coldness of his nose contrast with the warmth in his fingertips as arcane will did course through his circulation, a tempered heat of willful energy that sought to tear free from his wellspring of contempt for this matter. He felt his hair grow more sodden in each moment, and resisted the urge to slick it back once more. A moment's distraction would be all that would be required to fall here, this much he knew.

A strand of hair did cling awkwardly to his temple, and a rivulet of water did run down his nose.

A snarling twitch began to contort his face at the irritations presenting.

He left the negotiations to others now that they had been brought to the fore, Julian and Nacht seemed capable enough in this, he thought. He allowed his mind to run over the arcane defences that had carried him through dark trials, for there would be much need if matters erupted. Shadow weave of redirection and obfuscations, flares to reveal the foe, raw blasts of mana matter to confuse the weaves in others. He stood waiting for matters to play out, deciding that in this moment, the die was already rolling, the result of this gamble to parlay still being much more chance than choice in his estimation.

His fingertips pulsed in time with his heartbeat, his eardrums thrumming as he harboured the will to lash out in vicious rebuke to those opposed them. He fought his inclination to criticise his comrades negotations, such sounds dimming to him as he attuned to the magic that would be willed against them. A chant, a surge of intent, anything to react to. Such was the focus now as he let words cast into the wind.

The water did run and flow.

The snarl did grow.

I have done my duty to due diligence, Valborast thought.

And I will continue to do so when this talk is snuffed.

Byanka Valkas Nacht Bridget Darkfield Julian Benavide Lylian Darkfoot

 

[Petra Darthinian]

By nature, dragons were a possessive lot. A fathomless and instinctive ego, coupled with a primal drive to lord over and protect all that which they claimed as their own.

Norvyk decreed many things to be under his care. First and foremost, was his rider, Petra. For which he was bound until death severed them. The other always destined to follow in quick strides. For one could not now exist with the other.

Second, was anything that pertained to his rider.

In this case, it was the Order. The Knights of Anathaeum, to which his rider had sworn her service to. And as dragons were also creatures of oaths, forces of nature that held themselves above mere beasts through an enigmatic creed, Norvyk would through wrath and ruin, help fulfill those oaths at her behest.

Rage filled him. Ineffable and consuming with its violence. For that same bloodlust beat in tandem with Petra's heart. Her hands shaking where they gripped his saddle.

Two of their Order, dead. The Dawnling cared not for the reason. For no matter what the catalyst, she refused to believe it was accidental.

What room was left on the negotiation table when blood stained the pages of truce?

No. There would be no quarter given. No mercy had. Prayers would fall on deaf ears.

And if the thunder told Petra anything, it was that the very skies were on their side.

The side of vengeance, of retribution.

She would bring a reckoning upon these Witches. Judge, jury, and executioner. And she took no qualms in delving that justice.

For she would be damned if another of her Order fell to their foul machinations. Refused to be a part of whatever plot and ruse they dared to bring to gates of the Monastery.

Or in this case, the river that bordered their territories. The Witches obvious where they stood on the shore.

That wrath began to crackle the air; sparks flew down the sides of Norvyk's scales and the winds began to howl as they gathered like a tempest beneath his wings, carrying the scent of impending doom to the coven.

With a deafening roar that echoed Petra's scream, Norvyk unleashed a torrent of lightning that tore through the sky like a celestial javelin, ripping the earth from the riverbanks, illuminating the darkness in stark relief as bolts of lightning cascaded from the heavens like vengeful spears.

 

[Bridget Darkfield]

Bridget had always felt the closest to the High Mother. Ever since the night of her Revenge, she had felt a swell in power, the ability and determination to test the might and limits of what her faith was bestowing upon her. A shadowsinger, a lightning stormcaller, a master of the air and flight. What else was she to be entrusted with, to lead her coven and clan to the glory of the old ways of Sky Clan?

The flaxen haired witch decided she was not the one to speak for them all, not when Briar proved better spokeswoman. Bridget was someone born of action. She did not beg or plead or ask to become Heir Daughter. Her grandmother, the Lady Mother, declared her brutality to be worthy.

The earth became alive, as if the static it received was moving again, but it came to coalesce at her feet. Her hands reached out to the earth, fingers stretched to welcome the crackling lightning. Bridget held this for a mere moment, grinning as she witnessed a fine dragon call upon the same nature. Perhaps she had found her matches out here in the trespassing order of knights. A worthy fight was all a witch could hope for, it was a matter of how much blood she could draw before her own felling.

Briar White