Step Into my Parlor

[Luidaeg Phrikborne]

"Imran," she repeated his name, "Imran of the snow, Imran of the green fire, Imran of Dathomir," the words came out of her like a song. "Imran whose name and kindness shall not be forgotten." Not even as she sliced her phrik nails across his neck, should it come to that. There was no promise to protect him from death or to shield his life – but merely, to remember. Luidaeg took her promises very seriously. For a Metal Borne Witch, words were currency. To lie or break a promise… It had been done before. But the price was always steep.

As he made way towards the village, he asked her what Niri was like. She smiled, tasting the sweet memories of home, of her Coven. Of the dreams of one day returning to Mechashefot, the promised land from which all the witches had been banished from millennia ago.

"It is a planet of beauty," she said, choosing the details she could speak of without giving herself away, "Large forests and lakes, wonderful weather, friendly people who will always lend you a cup of flour if they have any in the cupboard. Until recently, it was run by the Four Courts – Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Spring. Outside of the courts are fringe groups, like the Witches I spoke of earlier, and some others. But two new Courts have emerged now – Dusk and Dawn, and they wish to undo the status quo that Niri has had for a long time."

Sighing, Luidaeg inhaled the crisp air that Midvinter had to offer. They were so close to the village now.

"We did not know that other worlds existed, or that one could travel to them, until less than a decade ago," she explained, "It wasn't too long before now that travel even became affordable. Our people have much to learn of science and technology, but for now we manage by buying from other worlds and giving them a portion of our agriculture in return. One of the reasons my father gave me the freedom to explore the Galaxy before coming back home is that he hopes that by the time I return, Dusk and Dawn will be eliminated, and Niri will be safe once more." She looked down a moment, pretending to be coy about something, "But I would wager that he has never heard of these Nightsisters you've spoken of, or he would never have let me go."

[member="Imran Feral "].

 

[Imran Feral]

Imran actually didn't know how to respond to the woman's words. So he didn't. He offered a passive grunt, but otherwise said nothing when she offered him titles and promises.

He did pay a bit more attention when she came to answer his question. She described Niri as a planet of beauty. He could not fathom it. To the Dathomiri, beauty was synonymous with war and slaughter. So as she spoke, it seemed that her definition of beauty did not line up with Imran's. He looked back to her before arching a brow, slightly confused by her words. "You said the four courts ran it until recently? What happened?" He asked curiously.

Now, when she spoke of not knowing other worlds existed, Imran was able to chuckle a bit. "Neither did we. Well, we knew other worlds existed, but we didn't really care. What do we need with these other worlds?" He asked, gesturing to the planet that they were currently on. "Except maybe fighting new warriors." He admitted, the thought of facing more warriors than the other Nightbrothers was appealing. He glanced over to the woman and yet again he was silent as he thought on her words. In the end he did not reply to that either, well at least not directly. "Once I leave here I'll keep killing the Nightsisters all over the galaxy. Until they are destroyed or I die, whichever comes first."

[member="Luidaeg Phrikborne"]

 

[Luidaeg Phrikborne]

"Once upon a time, the Four Courts waged endless war," Luidaeg said, "Neither could get a foothold for long enough to reign supreme. With time, they… Learned. How to get along with each other. How to rule alongside each other. Trade routes were established, the economy of everyone improved, and people say that things became better. But not everyone approves of this. The Courts of Dawn and Dusk have emerged, and few know what they want beyond causing chaos. And fewer know what effect this will have on the tribes and groups that exist on Niri and are not part of the Courts."

Oh, but she knew. Be it a representative of the Seasonal Courts or Dusk and Dawn, she had tasted them all. There was no difference. Human was human, and dead was dead. The courts would bicker, new ones could rise, old ones would fall, but the Metal Borne Witches would always remain. Let those who feared their numbers had dwindled turn to ashes; already had Luidaeg herself managed build with her own two hands a coven of thirteen. More could be made. They would not die out. The Witches would live.

Forever.

Looking to him again, she raised her hand to halt them both from entering the village. While Luidaeg was powerful and able to slaughter many in little time, she was no fool. It would be senseless to cause the village to distrust her so soon. After all, they had not existed with the Metal Borne in their midst, had not developed a healthy suspicion and fear from them. She could genuinely walk among those people and feel as though she was a version of normal, just before throats were cut.

"Give me your hand, Imran of the green fire," she said with a little smile, and removed a small knife, "but a nick – I have been gifted by the Three Faced Goddess and can sometimes glean the future from a few drops. Show them to me and I shall tell you which shall happen first. No harm will come to you from the nicking… Or the reading."

[member="Imran Feral "].

 

[Imran Feral]

Imran listened to the tales of the courts of Niri. It was slightly uninteresting, but that was because it all sounded so foreign. Imran had been raised in a small village on a world where the largest 'city', was still only a bit larger than his own village of huts and camps.

When Luidaeg raised her hand to him, he glanced to her with a curious gaze. His hand tightened around his spear once again, now growing tired of being so on edge. He was confused on just what it was about this woman that caused this, but he knew that so far she had given him no reason to kill her. His eyes went still when he saw the knife the woman drew. When she spoke of her goddess and visions induced by blood, the man's eyes went wide. He leaped back from the woman, bearing his spear down towards her with an distrusting face. "You are a witch. You use blood magics." He muttered before tightening his grip on his spear.

Almost instantly the Nightbrother's eyes crossed the terrain and all that surrounded them, looking for the smallest and largest things that could be used if it came to battle. He was not entirely convinced the woman had been a witch, yet she came from a world with witches and had showed she can wield magics just like them. What else could she be if not a witch?

[member="Luidaeg Phrikborne"]

 

[Luidaeg Phrikborne]

Luidaeg frowned. At the mere mention of her ability to read the blood on his palm, he had turned from a warrior into a frightened rabbit. Not only that, but he had completely misunderstood her meaning about the entire thing. She remained rooted in her spot, refusing to flinch or move away. If he was foolish enough to believe that he could take her down with his silly little spear, she would undo him. After all, his purpose had been served – he had taken her to the village, and she would have little trouble finding her ship once she was done there.

"I do not use blood magic," she said calmly, and openly rolled her eyes, "What I do is ask for a few drops of blood and let them fall down the palm of your hand. This, creates shapes. And these shapes, I read, in order to glean into the future. Does that sound like any sort of magic to you? Do you show as much fear at a fortune teller peering into a crystal ball?"

Sighing, she took her little knife back to where it belonged, and shook her head. "I thought you were a Warrior, but here you are, some little frightened thing," she sighed, and turned to the village and began to walk towards it. "Go and hide as you did the day the Witches slaughtered your tribe, little child," she said without looking at him, "perhaps someday you will make your peace with the fact that you did not die with them."

[member="Imran Feral "].

 

[Imran Feral]

Imran was paused by the woman's words. When he looked at her face, she seemed nearly human. Why did she look so familiar? She looked like...

His mother.

He shook the thought out of his mind, his anger only growing at the thought of how the woman resembled a dead woman. He had taken his attention off of her long enough for her to turn away from him, walking away as she spoke against him. This had set him off. Weak. Another woman calling him weak. His foot came forward, kicking the staff of his spear. The hilt of the weapon flew forward in his hands, just as he brought his arms up in a braced position. He'd been fast. In seconds the spear was slicing through the air, aimed at the woman's back.

Weak was he?

He'd had more than enough of feeling weak. She could join the other witches he'd killed.

[member="Luidaeg Phrikborne"]

 

[Luidaeg Phrikborne]

Luidaeg was a tiny woman. Standing at 5"1, especially with that red cloak of hers, she seemed more like a little girl herself rather than a full grown woman, let alone one that had lived and breathed for the past eighty standard years. But tiny as she was, she was not a mere grown up. She was a Metal Borne Witch, and most of the decades of her life had been spent killing, massacring, and enjoying the death of others. It had honed her into a creature that not only took life, but reacted quickly and greatly in violent situations. Every instinct she had, had been carefully worked on to be quick, and efficient.

To the untrained eye, she moved so quickly that she was nothing but a blur, a taint of fuzzy red against the white background of Midvinter's snowy fields and mountains. Twisting around, hair and cloak spread out and rose, her hand flying forward to grab the spear, her phrik claws coming out from beneath her skin and nail beds as she did so, her phrik teeth coming out as well as she snapped at the air.

Where before the young woman had stood, now was a Witch Borne in all her glory, and nothing gentle or kind remained in the way she appeared or felt like. Some would even claim that the shine in her eyes had altered itself, giving way from human to something more akin to a beast.

"You dare assault a Metal Borne Witch," she snarled, and the sweet voice was just as sweet if not sweeter, yet with an undertone that spoke of millennia of death and torture, an eternity of death and despair. The spear was in her hands now. "I had thought to let you go on your pathetic little way. Now you have given me a reason to undo you as I have undone many before you first drew breath. Give me one good reason to not turn this spear into ash and kill you before you your heart beats one more time."

[member="Imran Feral "].

 

[Imran Feral]

The Nightbrothers had been in service of Witches for over a thousand years. That was a chain that Imran was keen on seeing shattered. His eyes settled on the woman who caught his spear with a notable ire. His hands moved swiftly, one moving into his pouch and producing the same odd materials he had used to conjure the fires earlier. "Stupid woman." He growled, before tossing the dust into the air. His hands struck together, causing a mist of embers to flow into the air. As they had earlier, a cloud of green flames lashed out as if commanded to strike the woman by the gods.

They were no more than fire conjured using an old recipe the Nightsisters once used to keep their flames going through the night. A sparkpowder, which lashed out in green flames. It was not likely to hurt the Witch. Imran merely hoped to disorient her. He moved, allowing flame and heat to caress him as he charged through the very flames he had conjured. They were hot and clung to him as he moved, however in seconds he emerged from them, his tomawak drawn into his hands as he flew down towards the witch.

His eyes told the story of hatred, yet his tomahawk told the story of death. He aimed to bring it down upon the woman's neck, ending this fight here and now.

Imran of the green flames indeed.

[member="Luidaeg Phrikborne"]