Wicked Tongues - Part III.

Witches of all shapes and sizes piled into the amphitheater from all around, the din of gossip and a hundred excited voices filled the area. Morgana, Serenda, and Calintha pushed through the crowd to near the stage, where they were greeted by Gilshea of the Bitter Brew, who waved them over to a better spot.

“Gilshea, been a spell dear? How are you and the others been keeping?” Morgana inquired cooly.

“Serenda, Morgana, and I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure? I'll call you curls,” Gilshea replied, jovially.

“I’m Calintha, pleased to meet you, sister.”

“Aren’t you a vision of vibrance Calintha!”

“ It’s her first real Ritual," Serenda commented.

“Ahh that’s exciting, well I hope it’s an inspiring and exciting experience for us all!” Gilshea exclaimed, knocking back a snifter of whatever concoction was percolating in her glass.

“Any idea who this is between?” Morgana asked, checking over the stage and eyeing the grimoire at the center.

“Clover Coven of the Emerald Isles challenged one of the up-and-coming covens, The Cowled Crows. Think this is their second time at the Rituals, but they were only formed a few years ago. They barely qualified but the fact they are here already speaks volumes.”

“Bit of a bully move by Clover then, they aren’t minor this seems a little beneath them. Probably trying to send a message and humble the newcomers or could be a power grab,” mused Morgana.

“Possibly, they seem diametrically opposed as well. The Cowled Crows are staunch traditionalists from what I’ve heard.” gossiped Gilshea.

“Interesting,” Serenda, and Morgana said in unison.

A bell chimed and a gust of warm wind, and sparkling mist blew down into the arena giving the air a shimmering quality.

From above descended a glowing crow, perching upon the stone ledge above center stage.

Its feathers radiated a cold flowing aura of iridescent blue and green mist, which flowed down below in mystifying twists, it was time for the show.

The crows eyes opened revealing pure white pupils, and It spread its wings to full width in a great gesture, as silence fell over the collection of onlookers.

“Assembled sisters, we are gathered here to enact Ritual as the codes decree!”

The challenges issued, Ritual proceeds!

These sacred rites, the contests of three.

Magic contests of will, what shall we see?

Eye of newt, and skills to boot.

Now let me hear you all shriek applause like a mandrake root!

The crowd clapped and hooted. Fist pumped into the air as they all began to chant.

Ritual! Ritual! Ritual! Ritual! Ritual!

Welcome these covens, as Ritual begins!

Goddess bless all, but may the best witches win!

With the introduction delivered the crow settled in, shifting to stone, beak set in a grin. Its eyes still ablaze as the contenders approached the stage.

Bombastic and beautiful from the left the Clover Coven strode onto the stage. Fierce, covered in jewelry vibrant as the day. Their emerald silk dresses danced on them as they moved. Casting a confident beauty, the jewelry rattled as they ascended the stairs, clinking together creating the sound of falling rain, and the smell of fresh rain on the Irish isles filled the senses of those who heard it. Three women, stood confidently on the left side of the stage, awaiting their competitors, striking a pose for the crowd. They knew how to present, how to rile up the sisterhoods.

Silent, and solemn from the right ascended the Cowled Crows. Three hooded figures, in robes of midnight black silk, not nearly as flashy as their sisterly ilk. Belts of woven hemp, beneath the cowls unkempt hair poured forth from the two in the back. The witch in the lead, hood was pulled down, and atop her head sat a steepled Judenhat, her long strawish hair pouring out from beneath it down to her knees. On her face a grin, an unsettling feature atop pallid skin. They took their positions without speaking a single word.

The prime Witches bowed, and their wands arose as both settled into a duelist pose.

The air became charged with magical tension, as they awaited the signal to begin. It was then the Cowled Crows made a motion most unusual, they lowered their wands and turned from their opponents, their heads bowed as they faced the crowd. The wands at their sides tapped once on their robes, and for the briefest of moments the fabric did glow.

On the simple black robes, red hues became clear, as they grew ever brighter with vibrance came fear. Finally resting at cardinal red, the aura around them thickened with dread.

The room fell to silence, as all pulses quickend. Realization and terror left them all speechless and stricken.

Until Raticus blurted out, “Ohhlly fuuukk!!! Inquisition!!!!”

==Part III of V==

The story continues in Part IV.