Witch Trials // Closed

yass

I'll post a starter, though it might take a few minutes.
Do you guys have any ideas for where they should all meet? Perhaps at night… that might be cool.

ooh yeah
uh
something supernatural calls to their attention? Or maybe it's an eclipse or something, so they're all drawn to some special clearing in the woods where they're directly under the moon? To absorb it's power? I'm just full of cheesy ideas lol
idk

ooh, I like those ideas.
maybe each character has a specific reason as to why they're in the woods, and they're probably wary of one another (either because people have suspected witches or are starting to)

yeah sure!

A frustrated sigh blew past Cyrus' lips as she threw her book onto her bed, realizing that the incantation hadn't worked. Again. It was nearly witching hour– midnight– and she hadn't gotten any further with the spell book that she had found in her aunt's trunk. Sure, they were complicated charms and topics about astral projection, though she still wanted to master it. Smith had already completed a necromancy ritual and the last thing she wanted was to be surpassed by him…even if he had gotten grounded in the process. She sat on the edge of her bed, brushing a few wispy strands of honey colored hair behind her ear as she bit her bottom lip, glancing around her room.

Smith. Why did something catch her mind when she thought of him? Didn't he need to do something tonight? Cyrus' brows drew together in thought before she realized that at witching hour…Smith was looking for a familiar, and had asked her to help. Oh shit, she thought to herself, glancing at the time before she began to rush around her room, grabbing a few things. Her spell book, a coat, scarf, and a few herbs if something went wrong. Hopefully Smith wouldn't be too mad that she was late. With that, Cyrus began to make her way down the staircase in her house, almost tripping over the brightly colored scarf in her hands before quickly making it to the door.

Smith hummed as he began to walk through the small Corbin Spring's cemetery, the only noise joining him was the crunching of autumn leaves below his feet. To most, no one would ever want to be near these graves, though he didn't really mind. After all, it was the perfect spot to find a familiar.

After walking around for a few more moments, he settled under an older, crooked, tree and leaned against it's wood, glancing around. Where was Cyrus? She had promised him that she would be here to help him find a familiar, and he didn't want to be alone out here at witching hour. Especially ever since the town had begun to circle with rumors of its past history; witches, warlocks, spells, covens and more. Not to mention witch hunters. Hopefully he wouldn't be running into any of that tonight. Smith shuddered at the thought and began to hum to calm his nerves, hoping that Cyrus would be on her way soon.

Whispers blew through the room, stirring the diaphanous curtains and shifting the gauzy scarf wrapped around Marla's shoulders. Only the seven Tarot cards spread out on the wooden floorboards in front of her did not shift, but stayed anchored in place as if rooted to the spot. Six facing upright, the middle one still facedown. Marla's finger drifted over The Moon, stalling above The Wheel of Fortune and moving on to The Magician. They passed over the only card that was yet to be revealed, grazed the surfaces of The Hanged Man and The Tower, stopped just above The Star. Trembling slightly, she returned to the middle card and turned it over.

Death. A soft whimper escaped from her lips. The first successful reading she'd done in months, and this was her result. The ornate face of the card seemed to wink at her. You should have known, she told herself bitterly and moved to gather the cards. Hadn't Death always followed her? Had she not been promised to him? This is out of your control. Marla slid the cards back into the deck, shuffling it. Each one was much heavier than it looked, though it was made of nothing but cardboard and gold leaf. And magic.. She ignored the thought.

But the whispers around her only got louder as she slipped the deck into a plum, velvet pouch and stashed it beneath her floorboards. Marla whipped around as something grazed the back of her neck– but there was no one there. Then, her eyes fell on the open window, and the moon hanging in the sky beyond it. The Moon… Hadn't she drawn that card from the deck? As if it could read her thoughts, it seemed to glow brighter, beckoning. Sighing, she grabbed her jacket off the hook in her wall and obeyed.

A sliver of moonlight fell across the floor where Fara sat, her knees drawn up to her chest. She flinched away, back to the safety of the inky shadows, studying her arm for any marks. There were no burns– yet– but it wouldn't be long. Her nightdress, pale as the moonlight itself, was cool against her hot skin, both a relief and a cause of distress. The cold. She hated it, and was drawn to it at the same time. Her flesh was always burning, was it not? The mark of the sun, of its god….

But Fara was done with hiding, particularly today. The afternoon had been awful, she was sick of warmth and golden sunshine and needed an escape. Her eyes drifted back to the window, to the forest beyond the town. This is a bad idea…. But she was already halfway out the door.

(that took forever, sorry)

(it's amazing topaz!)

(thanks!)

(yours too!)

(thank you!)

Cyrus winced visibly as the door closed loudly, hoping that her aunt or Smith's mother hadn't heard that. She checked one last time before she turned and began down the porch's ochre steps. The wind was strong tonight, whipping her light colored hair every which way as she tried to tuck it behind her ears fruitlessly. Hopefully the coat she brought along would keep her warm while she was in the woods.

Dismissing her trivial thoughts, she glanced up towards the sky, noticing that it was a full moon, just liked Smith had planned. Perfect for casting a protection spell… Cyrus thought with a small hum and shake of her head as she began down a gravel path. Her home was rather close to the woods, so it wouldn't take that long, only that their meeting point was the small cemetery, which was a bit further and in the darker parts of the woods. Of course her cousin had chosen this…he was rarely scared of anything like death…or ghosts. Part of that leading him to go down the path of necromancy.

As her mind continued to rattle off different ideas and possible threats in the woods, a small crackle of wood snapped her out of her thoughts. Glancing up quickly and looking around, she soon realized that it had only been a squirrel scampering up an oak tree next to her. Pay attention, the noise seemed to taunt, and Cyrus listened. The last thing she wanted was to run into some sort of odd force or spirit.

Smith paced around the cemetery, growing impatient as the minutes passed. Where was Cyrus? He blew out a frustrated breath as he fingered the slip of paper in his hand, realizing that the time was about five minutes past witching hour. The moon was still high up, but he needed his cousin to help him. Cyrus had been a witch for much longer than he had, and she knew a lot more…not that he would admit it.

Fara might have been feeling reckless that night, but she definitely wasn't stupid. Before she'd slipped out the door of her little house, she'd made sure to grab a few charms. Dried herbs, flowers, and a few hidden sigils. She closed her eyes against the harsh moonlight, pulling her hooded shawl lower over her face and mentally listing off precautions. White heather, for protection. Sunflower petals for Sol. Pink carnation, for– Was it pathetic, that she carried around the flower of remembrance every day? Her siblings were long gone anyways… Dill and Rue. As for sigils, a few simple shielding charms and one for warmth and the sun had been enough.

Some would call this excessive, all these measures. But Fara had been burned twice by the wicked silver light and had caught moonsickness no less than three times– she was not eager to repeat her mistakes.

Bathed in moonlight and the cool night air, Marla hurried through town. Slipping from shadow to shadow as to not be seen– it had been hard enough to end the rumours of her mother keeping Tarot cards, to be seen out at night would have its definite consequences– she allowed the moon to draw her away from her ramshackle house, past gardens and houses and shops, past the church, the clock of which read almost midnight. Witching hour. A thrill went through her. It was then that she realized where the moon was taking her.
The cemetery.

(Sorry if this sounds bad, I'm on a train heading back home right now and I felt like I needed to post something before I pass out from exhaustion)

If anything could be said about Cally's familiar, it was that he was never the most normal of creatures. He had climbed through her window and chosen to immediately start clawing at her. She rolled her eyes. "Come now, love," she whispered to him, "what's spooked you?" She reached over to pull Rat into her lap. He allowed it, for a moment, before hissing and arching his back once more. "Is it something outside?" She asked him. He bit onto her jacket's edge and started pulling her forward. "Love, stop it. This was Dad's jacket. I don't want you ruining it."

Rat looked to be even further agitated. He hissed at her and attempted to pull her forward once more. Callista sighed, weary. "Let's go outside, yeah? Would that make you less… like this?" Oh, her mother was going to kill her. But, what harm could befall her? She would have Rat by her side. "Fine. Let's go to the cemetery, alright, love?" Rat had already lept off her and strutted back towards the window. He lept out, not bothering to look back to see if Cally was truly coming. That damn thing's going to be the death of me, she thought, almost bitterly. She approached the windows edge, and with one final glance to her room, jumped out.

James winced as he trecked through his house. In one hand he held his shoes; the other clutched his jacket tightly. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back already. He wasn't even doing anything bad, per se, just trying to get some fresh air. So why did it feel like he was breaking the law by sneaking out? Why did-

"What's her name?" Asked a voice from behind him, and James flinched violently. He turned around slowly, his hands in the air. His older brother, Ryan, stared back, unimpressed.

"What?" James croaked out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan snorted. "What's her name? The girl you're sneaking out to see?" He said it like it was obvious.

James winced. "I'm just getting some fresh air. I can't sleep." His head thrummed, singing along to a tune that he couldn't identify. He just felt like he needed to get out of the house. Like he needed to run.

His brother raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, alright, Romeo. For your sake, I'll pretend that was convincing. Wait here." He disappeared into his room for a moment before coming back out and throwing something at the younger. "Go get 'em, tiger," he said, winking. His gaze remained on his brother for a second longer before he promptly shut the door without another word.

James glanced down at the item, and his cheeks burned red. A condom? Really? He picked it up from the floor and pocketed it, his face a scarlet mess. He slowly walked out to the porch and shut the door behind him. Then, he slipped on his shoes and started to run.

(that was great!)

Cyrus pulled her tan colored coat closer to her body, still freezing under a few layers, not to mention the scarf that was wrapped haphazardly around her neck. If she had known that tonight would be this cold, she would have never agreed to coming out. As she continued down the path, Cyrus ignored the small creaks and rustles in the woods, and the creepy, icy feeling crawling down her back at every noise. They're just animals, she continued to tell herself, not letting any sort of concern seep onto her face. Just animals. Though, the more dark the woods seemed to get tried to tell her otherwise.

After a few more minutes of walking, she finally heard some sort of humming and the first peaks of crumbling wood from a few graves. Finally. Cyrus' walking picked up as she made it to the rusty entrance, forcing the gate open after a few tries, afraid that it would waste more time on the clock.

"You finally decided to show up, cous'." A deeper voice spoke up to the left of Cyrus, and her head snapped up before narrowing on the figure. She recognized the same messy, brown locks and crooked smile on the man's face before sighing.

"Nice to see you too, Smith," Cyrus replied curtly before she stepped into the graveyard, glancing around at the crumbling stone. "I just a little caught up in some of my aunt's spell books. Sorry," she added, feeling as if she owed her cousin some sort of apology, even if he bothered her most of the time. She grabbed her satchel that hung by her side and began to rifle through it for a small jar of salt.

"You have the things for the protection circle, right?" Smith spoke up, glancing down at Cyrus as he stuffed his hands in his jean's pockets.

The cemetery.
Haunted by ghosts, phantoms, memories. The resting place of her mother. Marla didn't know whether to be afraid that she had ended up at the front gates of a cemetery directly after drawing Death from her deck, or trust in fate and the moon. Maybe this was destiny. Maybe she was meant to come here, to visit her mother. Or to die… She shook the thought off and entered.

It had been easy for Fara to slip a longer, warmer, dark orange dress over her nightgown, but not she was beginning to regret her lack of layering. At least she had her shawl… The bitter night air settled on her skin like a curse, a warning, telling her to turn back, but they both knew she wouldn't. Murmuring a prayer to Sol under her breath, she let her feet lead her to the place she knew best in the whole town.
The cemetery.

"Of course I did, Smith. I've been doing this longer than you," Cyrus answered, though her tone hinted at teasing, which would most likely turn this entire conversation into bantering. She grabbed the jar of salt from her satchel and the small, leather spell book as well, glancing around the cemetery. It almost felt as if…someone else were here. "You came here alone, right?" She asked, her brows drawing together in concern. The last thing she needed was to get excommunicated again.

"Yes. It's only you and me," Smith answered with a small sigh, attempting to appear carefree though his nerves stood on edge. "Let's just…put the protection circle up and search for a familiar."

Cyrus nodded and opened the jar of salt, glancing over a page in her book quickly before stuffing it back into her leather satchel. They only needed three things for this spell; salt, the moon, and concentration. She began to walk around the perimeter of the graves, pouring light layers of salt in a path as she started to recite a few words.

"Pure salt protect this circle and all who reside here. Keep out those who seek harm, protect us from negativity, anger and fear," Cyrus started, continuing to pour the salt as Smith glanced around the cemetery, keeping watch.

Marla felt like a ghost herself, drifting among the gravestones where the unrestful dead lay buried. What with her pale skin, once sickly, now a healthy shade of cream, and almost platinum hair, tumbling down around her neck and shoulders, she actually had been mistaken for a phantom once or twice. Though, both times had been by her insane great-uncle back when she still held traces of disease.

The wind whispered secrets in the shifting tree branches above, lifting the almost gauzy skirt of her dress blue like a fallen fragment of the sky. She hurried to push it back down, mortified despite the fact that she was the only person in Corbin Springs insane enough to be out on a night like this. But she'd always been one for the cold… it was what she was used to, anyways.

Marla couldn't help but jump at every single noise that reached her ears, whirling around as if Death himself was bearing down on her with his scythe. But she was alone. You're just being paranoid.. she told herself, easily locating and crouching down in front of her mother's grave. There's no one else here.

It wasn't long before Fara reached the gates. There she stood, stock still, almost afraid to move and cross over to the resting place of the dead, as if the moon itself was going to punish her, the cursed woman, for mourning her siblings in the dead of night. Witching hour… Or at least, for most. Not her, a witch of the day. Witching hour was more like noon, when Sol had pulled the sun up to the apex of the sky.

She cut off any thoughts of the sun god, shivering visibly in her shawl and jacket. Right. Might as well enter, you crossed the town for this…

"Someone's here," Smith murmured as he began to walk around, a hurried tone evident in his voice which in turn made Cyrus nervous. Small whispers picked up along the wind, and faint footsteps here and there. He couldn't tell if they were spirits…or maybe other people. "Finish it quickly," he whispered harshly, tapping his fingers against his leg nervously.

"Pure salt protect this circle and all who reside here. Keep out those who seek harm, protect us from negativity, anger and fear," Cyrus repeated quickly, over and over again as she hurried around the perimeter of the cemetery, trying to connect the circle of salt she left behind in her wake.

A voice drifted to her, carried by the wind… Marla's head snapped up, shoulders tensing. Like a rabbit ready to bolt, she froze, waiting for the slightest sound. That's when she realized that she was still hidden from view, crouched in the shadows of the gravestones surrounding her. No one can see you, you idiot. Carefully, slowly, she shifted onto her knees, visions of Death flashing in front of her mind's eye. Marla turned her head. No one behind her. No one to either side of her, either. She bit her lip and leaned forward to peer around her Mother's gravestone.

When she entered, Fara was admittedly scared of the silence. It's a graveyard, of course it's quiet, she told herself, but remained unconvinced. Even in the daytime, when the cemetery was empty, birds could still be heard in the trees, conversations could be heard from the nearby town square. But not now.

What shocked her most was the sight of other people, on the far side of the place. Two of them, barely visible in the dark from this distance, but definitely there. She froze. If they saw her here…. they would not hesitate to label her a witch and punish her for it, as the townspeople had done once before, driven by racial prejudice and the sight of the old grimoire, barely readable or proof of magic, that she kept in her bedroom.

Cyrus continued to chant the incantation, over and over again, the word's dying once the wind brushed past them. The whole situation appeared quite grim, and the moonlight cast an eerie glow on the woman, her honey brown locks turning into a grey tone. Her eyes were closed in concentration as she finished the salt circle, barely noticing until the jar felt empty, devoid of any trace of her even using it. "Here this pure salt shall stay, circling these souls. Keep out those who seek harm, and the keep these beings at bay." She finished, opening her wide, tawny eyes as she glanced around the graveyard fervently for any figures. As the minutes slipped by, this idea sounded worse and worse, most likely earning her a punishment from the entire witch coven.

"It's done. I hope you have your runes ready," Cyrus sighed, appearing a bit tired as she glanced over towards her cousin and rose a testing brow. The taller boy nodded, holding up the crumpled slip of paper before he stepped forward into the ring of salt. "Remember, familiars are difficult. They're hard to tame," she added, making sure that a cautious tone was evident in her voice. She usually wasn't this responsible, though the last thing she wanted was for Smith to get hurt in the process.

Smith nodded and closed his eyes, murmuring a few things under his breath. Most witches chose their familiars, though like herself, Smith had decided to ask the forest for one. Hopefully, a spirit would answer. After all, this worked the best under a full moon.

"I asked the Horned God to heed my call, come from below, come from above~" The boy began, speaking in a loud, clear voice.

The loud voice rang through the graveyard, ripping through Fara's last shred of calm. The Horned God– Satan– Paralyzed by fear, she stared, wide-eyed, at the two figures up ahead, half-hidden by shadows and tombstones. She wasn't exactly holy herself, nor Christian in the first place and a witch, but this was different. Outright practitioners of his law? Of chaos? Bloodshed? Evil? All that he stood for, real or not? This shook her to the core.

Finally snapping out of her stupor, Fara whirled around and bolted.

Marla's eyes widened as the loud call reached her ears, seeming to still the very wind. Satanists? Or witches? She should have been much more afraid of the shadowy silhouettes ahead. But she had just practically sentenced her own fate with a deadly card pulled from a deck. If anything, she was drawn closer. Standing, she began to approach, but a noise behind her turned her head. It was… another woman? Running away? Before she knew what she was doing, Marla had taken five steps in chase and grabbed hold of the end of her shawl.

Cyrus continued to watch Smith, occasionally looking around the cemetery for others, though she paused on the word 'Horned God.' She had never enjoyed that saying, or connecting the coven's teachings to Hell, though she could only follow along…especially since she used to be an excommunicate. Though, she had always found it interesting how the High Priest taught about this 'god's' belief's, that people would be free under his benevolent will. Cyrus at least believed that part, since none of the people were malevolent in this coven, and had been willing to take her in.

"Entities loving, who wish me well, come to this circle when I s-" Smith continued, though abruptly stopped, eyes snapping open when he heard a loud figure in the woods. Cyrus flinched as well, brows drawing together as she turned, peering into the dark of the graveyard.

"Who's there?" The woman called out, tawny eyes wide in concern as she watched the trees…and the graves. Was it a spirit or a ghost? She had read about it once, though Smith knew more about it then she ever would.

“Who’s there?” Fara froze at the voice, pulled back by a hand gripping her shawl. She whirled around, her heart in her throat, and her eyes clashed with the faded blue ones of a petite girl. Jerking away, she frantically searched for the source of the voice, whimpering prayers to the sun as the moonlight began to burn her arms and face. What will they do to me if I run?? What will they do to me if I call out?? Fara’s hands trembled, her eyes flickering from the young woman before her to the two figures on the other side of the cemetery. In the end, she steeled her nerves, cleared her throat, and called back. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

"Oh gods," Cyrus murmured, rubbing her temple when she heard a voice call back. It sounded like a woman as well, which cleared up part of her thought of it being a spirit, though this opened up an entirely new list of threats. If it was a human…they must have heard the incantations. They would know that she was a witch now. She messed up. Again. Instead of panicking, Cyrus forced a leveled breathe out, trying to keep herself calm before she spoke again.

"We're in the graveyard. We don't– we don't pose a threat. We've simply lost our way," she called out, hoping that the woman would believe their story as she glanced towards Smith, reading the worry in his eyes. When his mother and aunt heard about this…they would be screwed.

Marla didn’t believe a word of what the woman— at least, it sounded like a woman— was saying, but she played along. Beside her, the stranger was practically trembling, as if in pain, but as recognition dawned she realized why. This was the eldest Smithers daughter, the one involved in the horrific events that had occurred a few years ago. Rumour had it that she never ventured out into the night, for fear of the ghost of her past tormentor— but those were just rumours, not to be believe.

Marla glanced back at the two figures. She was admittedly drawn by the idea that they could be witches and not just Satanists, one of the reasons being their magic. Yes, it was supposed to be ‘black magic’, but weren’t her powers (however weak) considered black magic as well? Wouldn’t her mother be considered absolute evil under that belief? She was curious, and immensely so. Giving the other woman— Faith? Fara? Something like that— a reassuring smile, she began to approach the figures.

The Smithers daughter caught her sleeve, whispering a hurried, fearful warning, but after seeing that Marla wouldn’t be swayed, bit her lip and hurried after.

Cyrus' brows drew together in concern as the two figures began to walk towards the cemetery, and she stood her ground for a few moments until she took a few steps forward as well. Just act like you're mortal. It'll be alright, she continued to tell herself, continuously glancing over towards her cousin. What would she do if they questioned her? Would she lie…make them forget? They didn't look like that much of a threat; one figure quite petite and the other tall, though no taller than Smith, though she knew not to judge by appearance. Cyrus had made that mistake one too many times.

Smith on the other hand drifted not too far from Cyrus, though he still resided in the back of the graveyard, not too keen on meeting people at this hour. He thought that this entire "summoning" would run smoothly, with no problems, no people, though clearly it wasn't going to work that way. At the thought, an unhappy frown had crossed his features, most of it a facade to hide the nerves that were currently racing through him.

"Who are they?" Smith asked, though once the words actually left his mouth, he realized how stupid they were. Cyrus could see no better than he in the dark, much less when they surrounded by trees and gravestones.

"Two girls, I believe. Just…play along, alright? I don't want you getting in any trouble," the woman murmured back, careful to keep her voice low as the harsh wind swept by them. She brushed a few strands of wavy, honey coloured hair behind her ears, trying to keep herself looking a little more poised and confident than she might have appeared at the moment.

Every single one of Fara’s instincts went against what she was doing, but she ignored them and followed the platinum-haired girl. Even in the heat of the moment, she was pleasantly surprised that the stranger— though not a complete one, she vaguely recognized her— held no qualms about touching her, a black woman. But there were bigger things to worry about now, she was headed straight for a few Satanists— or witches who could pinpoint her actual identity as one of them. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

They approached, stopping when they were only a few feet away.

Cyrus released a breathe she didn't realize that she was holding as the two figures came into a view, the moonlight hinting at enough of their features. One of the girls was an African American, with shorter cut, black curls and a taller frame, though her warm, sepia toned caught her the most. They stood out against her dark skin, which most likely made them so interesting. The girl beside her almost appeared the complete opposite, with pale skin and faded eyes. What an interesting pair… Cyrus thought to herself before racking her mind for something to say.

"I'm sorry that we startled you," Smith began before any words could leave Cyrus' mouth. She watched him carefully, tightening the coat around herself as the wind picked up, chasing the grey clouds above them. "We just arrived from the neighboring city, Vale," he continued, attempting to fuel the fake story in order to make it sound believable.

Both Marla and the woman beside her instantly pinned down the bullshit. And though soft-spoken, Marla was not going to let it go. “But I’ve seen you around town before! Corbin Springs isn’t exactly large, you’re the….. Adders? Addlers? Ashtons?” She frowned at them, confused as to where this sudden burst of bravery had come from.