Said the Spider to the Fly

[Luidaeg Phrikborne]

[member="Imogen Songborne"]​

. : Niri : .​

. : Some Forest Clearing : .​

. : A Year Ago : .​

Luidaeg leaned against the tree, her pale eyes watching the match from a safe distance. They had been gathering for days now, Metal Borne Witches from near and far, all together for this one day that the Three Faces of the Goddess had called together. By her count, nearly every coven had showed up in full, and not just the leaders. There were the Warrior Witches, the Scholar Witches, and the Domestic Witches. Many of the bigger covens had a mixture of the three, and more. Almost every coven set up shop for trade; with all their traveling and killing, items were bound to pile up for them all. Luidaeg herself preferred to just throw them away unless they were of special value, but she was blessed by the Goddess and rarely wanted for much, giving her the privilege of not even needing to overly think such matters.

There were smells of food cooked with spices she had never smelled before. It was one of the rare things that brought a smile to her lips. Fancy cooking was one of her own coven's weaker spots. Any of her witches could easily kill a goat and roast it to perfect, but when they wanted gourmet, they often had to take it by force from others. Only once had Luidaeg experienced constant access to good cooking, but it had been a few decades since, and it was one of the things she regretted no longer having after having made her choice.

Her eyes moved from the food – to the center of the clearing. On top of the smell of spice, was another layer of smell, one that every witch worth her damn knew intimately. The smell of her dragon. Most of the Metal Borne Witches had them, creatures bred to heed orders and carry them around. They understood their language, and some witches swore that they understood the dragons' as well, in a way that suggested something that ran deeper than basic instincts and wants. She, however, did not share such joys. Her own dragon, Anath, was a good beast. Strong, swift, and able to bite through the necks of other dragons. She was bigger and heavier than the other dragons in her coven, but Luidaeg did not share the same kindship with her dragon as she saw some of her witches share with theirs. She knew that when the day came that her dragon died, she would not feel sadness over the loss of a soul and a life, but annoyance at the loss of comfort and need to go through the motions to train a new dragon. Anath, she believed, held similar feelings towards her.

And in that center of the clearing, were two dragons. Small, not large enough to hold a rider for more than a handful of moments, but already being tested against each other. By the color hand-printed on their sides, she could easily read that one was of the Steelborne clan and the other from the Silverborne. Their fight, just as their Clans, was largely unimpressive. Luidaeg decided to no longer pay it any attention.

Rising from the bench she had been seated on, she was immediately flanked by Esther and Esmerelda – her Second and Third. Wherever she went, they followed, like silent shadows. As a Coven Leader, Luidaeg was expected to be able to fend for herself, fight to the death, and stay alive. As her Second and Third, Esther and Esmerelda were expected to throw their lives to protect hers, preferably before she received a single scratch, or they would pay the price. Many of the Clans believed in the concept of an eye for an eye, but Luidaeg had trained her thirteen that this was not enough. They did not take an eye for an eye. They took thee punishments for every offense, great or small.

Dressed in her battle leathers, and covered by her red cloak, Luidaeg began to make her way to the food stalls. If she was not to be properly entertained, she would be properly fed instead. It would also do her good to eat before her own fight came; earlier, she had signed up to go toe to toe with one of the dragons. She had one of her coven ensure that she would receive a strong bull that could match her and her phrik teeth, and ideally, it would come from either the Ironborne or the Songsteelborne. She had no wish to waste her time on the lesser clans – only those that belonged to the Three Faces of the Goddess would be good enough for her.

Taking a grilled squirrel from one of the domestic witches present there, Luidaeg turned in time to see the messenger approach her. Her third immediately had her knife out, close enough to the messenger's neck that a single wrong breath would draw blood. Luidaeg's phrik teeth came out and she smiled hungrily at the messenger – a messenger would surely be more pleasant to feed on than a squirrel, especially if the present exotic spices were used. She could feel the hungry eyes of other witches that did not belong to her eying the scene, wondering if they would have scraps after all, or whether they would get to see Luidaeg, the Coven Leader and Heir of the Phrikborne in action.

Sadly, the messenger ensured neither of those would be happening. "Your Matriarch wishes to speak to you," the messenger said. Her voice had begun with a small shake, yet every word seemed to give it strength, "When the moon has reached its peak, you are expected in her tent. Not a moment sooner, not a moment later. Leave your witch-dogs outside." Esmerelda removed her knife, and the messenger turned around and left, head held eye. All those who'd heard it knew that there was no killing a messenger of a Matriarch.

Luidaeg retracted her teeth. She would not be using them now, and there would be no fight against a dragon before the matter with her Matriarch was resolved. She closed her eyes, uttering a silent prayer inside her heart. One day, she would become a kinslayer, because she would kill that woman and take her place, just as she would murder the other Phirkborne Heirs to remove the competition. She would be celebrating her 80th spring after the year turned again. Still young enough. There was still enough time.

The sound of an animal screeching unhealthily high stole everyone's attention. One of the dragons in the ring had been done away with and removed from life. "It appears we will be dining on more the squirrel tonight," Luidaeg said to her coven witches, and gave them the permission to go forth and take what flesh they wished. As they went forward, she looked to the sky.

The moon was at least an hour away from its peak.

 

[Alora Fae]

[member=Luidaeg Phrikborne] ​

​

Niri - Forest Clearing || One Year Ago​

Deep in the heart of Niri a gathering of Metal Borne witches thrived. On this most auspicious day the three faces of the Goddess had called their children, and their children had answered. The Songsteelborne had been amongst the first to arrive, along with the fellow covens of Phrik and Iron. Before too long the forest was teeming with tents in vibrant shades, makeshift shops selling the wears of witches. From talismans to alchemy ingredients, foods to dragon eggs. Exotic smells had taken over floral scents, and noises replaced what had once been the near silence of mother nature.

For Imogen, it was her first gathering of such kind since her rise to Songsteelborne Heir, and she was determined to make it a memorable one. Where most took interest in the rudimentary market, the raven haired witch was focused elsewhere.

‘What say you? Is he ready?’ Imogen spoke as she strode across the grassy clearing, boots squishing across freshly spilled dragon blood, the battle fresh on her mind. A stream of hungry witches had already begun to swarm the downed beast, but the Songsteelborne Heir wasn’t hungry. Set in her centre of her ebony gaze was her own competitor, a youthful male of pale green with smattering of handprints on his side in a shade of blue, so light it appeared to glow. So far he’d given her more trouble than any of the coven’s previous competitors, but the sisters had managed to use that to their advantage. The young dragon was fierce and unrelenting. His stubbornness showed even now as Imogen’s second and third struggled to keep him under control.

‘He’s wild, that much is certain.’ Her second, Yasilla, spoke through heavy breaths. A thick chain wrapped around her wrist pulled taut and tugged her a few feet into the air. The pale green dragon had caught the scent of blood, and he was near desperate for a taste of the flesh it had come from, but he would have to wait. ‘Keep him there for now, they should be done feasting soon.’ Her eyes turned to the second woman, her third, and her tone sharpened slightly. ‘Do not under any circumstances feed him. We want him famished for the battle.’ The blonde could only nod through her effort to keep the dragon still, but this seemed enough for Imogen.

As she stepped forward to aid in an attempt to calm the beast, she was interrupted by the whisper of a timid voice. ‘When the moon is highest your Matriarch demands your presence.’ Though the message was simple it brought all three Songsteelborne witches to a complete stop. They shared no words with the messenger, who faded away just as quickly as she had appeared, nor themselves. Instead they spoke with looks, for it was within no witches power to question the bidding of the Matriarchs. In any case, there was still time till the moon was at its peak. Still plenty of time to pick a fight. ‘I suppose we’d better make this a quick one?’ With the eager nodding of her sisters, the Coven leader knew just what to do.

In the blink of an eye, and with just as much stealth, Imogen disappeared from view. For those watching the spot she had once stood in, she would not return. Instead her body flew, faster than the human eye could have made up, as though time itself had sped up around her. For the woman herself, she focused only on a splash of crimson that grew rapidly closer. The Phrikborne Heir was no stranger to Imogen. Small numbers within the Metal Born witches meant no face went unknown, but the person behind it was a different question. Imogen had heard many dark and dangerous things about the innocent looking creature she approached, a woman truly worthy of her title.

Just as quickly as she had gone, Imogen appeared again. Face to face with the Heir to one of the Three Faces of the Goddesses. Her equal both in title and in blood. No doubt her second and third would be on the immediate defence, but Imogen hardly felt threatened by them. ‘Luidaeg Phrikborne?’ She spoke briskly, but with a smile on her face reserved solely for family. The question was of course entirely moot, she had seen the Matriarch’s messenger leave only moments ago in tandem with her own. ‘I gather you got the message. It’s about an hour till the moon reaches its peak.’ Her charcoal eyes flitted over to the pale green dragon writhing in its chains. ‘A little bird told me you were looking for a fight.’